THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


1 


A 


TBR 


♦/ 


SAVAGE. 


BT 


A  HEADMAN  AND  WARRIOR  OF  THE  MUSCOGULGEE  NATION 


8BCOND  EOmO!«. 


PnbUfhed  l»y  John  F'erral, 

AT  THE    OFFICE  OF  THE  NATIONAL    LABORBK 

ii9,  e  S2&oaxaalter  Street^  In  8th«  below  Marlset  St. 
PHILADELPHIA, 


1838. 


i^ 


(£> 


/lr& 


1?  "^  •$ 


IiNTRODUCTORY  ADDRESS 

Thb  Savage,  it  is  hopcJ,  will  be  aa  accepfa-  for  the  rivers  rocks  and  moantains  of  the  desort 
bla  pveient  to  those  who  devote  a  poriion  of  their  It  was  his  fortune  many  yoara  ago  to  form  an  ac- 
time  to  literary  amiisementB.  Its  aim  is  not  to  quaintance  with  an  intelligent  and  learned  citizen 
instruct  the  moxt  enlightened  people  in  the  uni-  of  the  United  States,  who,  in  cons6quen<'e  of  some 
verso,  but  merely  to  afEn-d  u  novel  species  of  misfortimes  in  early  life,  contracted  such  a  dis- 
cnlertainment  to  that  changeable  being,  who  da-  taste  for  iho  manners, amusements  and  pleasures 
lights  in  var;cly.  If  The  Savage  find  itself  inra-  of  his  countrymen,  that  he  adopted  the  resolution 
pahle  of  producing  ihat  which  is  original,  it  will  of  seeking  oblivion  of  his  cares  among  the  cLil- 
endeavor  to  place  olJ  things  in  a  new  light;  and  dren  of  nature.  Ke  look  up  his  abode  in  the 
if  it  be  defective  in  a  certain  quality  known  by  country  of  the  Muscogulgees,  where  he  became 
the  name  of  wit,  it  faithfully  proinisas  never  to  known  to  Piomingo.  A  friendship,  sincere,  and 
have  recourse  to  indecent  ribaldry  to  supply  the  lasting  as  lifo,  was  the  consequence  of  thi:»  inti- 
deffciency.  Those  v.'ho  may  (eel  disposed  to  re-  macy.  Piomingo  gsiined  instruction  from  the  lips 
tire  awhiia  from  the  conlliccs  of  political  warfare  of  his  companion:  He  was  soon  enabled  to  read 
and  8^ek  for  relaxation  and  repose  in  the  wigwam  and  reflect ;  and  felt  himself  carried  away  by  an 
o/"  i'jowitng'o,  shall  meet  wiih  a  (rienilly  rocop-  irresistible  propcnsi'.y  for  investigation.  Delight- 
lion.  IIo  will  proJace  the  calumet  of  peace,  and  ful  but  fleeting  was  the  period  of  this  intercourse, 
bring  forth  (i>r  their  entertain m(;tit  "  things  new  The  friend  ot  Piomingo  died;  and  he  has  en- 
and  old."  Piomi.Tgu  is  no  I'ederaliat,  no  rejiubii-  dnavored  to  console  himself  for  his  loss  by  sock- 
can,  no  democrat,  na  aristocrat,  in  the  common  ing  araispment  among  th;U  people  from  whom 
acceptation  of  those  termn;  but  he  may  boasl  his  former  associiile  had  rt-iired  with  disgust. 
with  the  utmost  propriety  of  being  a:i  American  He  h.is  travelled  for  several  years  through  tha 
"indeed,  in  whom  there  is  no  guile."  lie  sprang  United  States,  and  at  last  fixed  his  residence  ia 
Dp  in  the  wilderness  ftr  from  the  haunts  of  ci-  Philadelphia. 

vilized  men.  Me  inhaled  with  his  lirst  breath  a  Tho  good  people  of  this  Republic  have  long 
love  for  sarage  independence;  and  his  subse-  derived  arausomeni  from  the  journals  of  polished 
quent  acqaaintanco  with  tho  arts,  sciences,  and  travellers  through  barbarous  nations:  let  us  for 
langaagcdoi  poli.sho  1  nations  has  not  contributed  orico  revene  ths  picture  and  see  what  entertain- 
to  Ifasen  his  original  prepos3es.-iio:i  in  favor  of  the  nient  can  be  dra-.vn  from  the  observations  of  a 
v/ild  dignity  of  nature.  He  e.ijoys  the  bcautios  savage  upon  the  manners  and  customs,  vices  and 
t»f  iha  g  irdens,  msadowsand  fields  of  u  cultivatad  virtues,  of  those  who  boast  tha  advantages  of  i$' 
•ountry ;  but  he  would  rssign  theai  with  pleasure  finemeat  aai  civilization. 


THE    SAVAGE. 


BY  PIOMINGO. 
A  Headman  and  Warrior  of  the  Muscogulgee.  Nation. 

THR    SAVAGE— NO.    I. 

Recollections  nf  Infancy.  TIiou    must   become  old;  thy  hands  must 

The  existence  of  things  is  not  stranre;  tremble,  thine  eyes  become  dim,  and  death 

but  the  power  of  perceiving  thij  exist .>'nce  put  a  period   lo  thy  existence.''    "  What  ia 

is,  beyond  comprehension,  wonderful.  Where  death  ]'      -Death  is  the  end  of  li  e.     Death 

Ehall   we   look    for    the    origin   of   mind?  '« aothinor.'       "I    camot    understand 

Whcr.ce  sprang  the  young  idea  1  Was  it  »hat :  come,  let  us  look  at  my  brother  Quibo. 
produced  by  the  immediate  agencv  of  the  Is  he  asleep?  let  us  awake  him.  His  face 
Almighty  One  1  or  is  it  a  ne.-essarv  emana-  's  cold;  his  eyes  are  rlosed  ;  hislmibsare 
tion  from  the  great  fountain  of  na'iure,  the  «"ff:  heis  dead.  If  I  toucli  him,  he  cannot 
soul  of  ihe  univ^erse  ?  Our  first  thought  has  ^-'el  me;  It  I  cry,  he  cannot  hear  me;  Should 
perished  for  e^er ;  no  exertion  of  ours  can  I  P"'l  oven  his  eyes,  he  would  not  see  me  : 
bring  it  up  from  the  gulf  of  oblivion:  yet,  he  w  '^ead  Why  did  he  lie  down  on  this 
we  may  awaken  the' recollection  of  times  bt^'lji"  ['''ej  Why  did  he  fall  asleep  and 
long  p,.st ;  we  may  bid  the  fcceues  of  child-  ^'^  ^  J  will  run  wild  on  the  hill-<.  I  wi 
hood  pass  again  before  us;  and  rememl.er  "ever  lie  down  to  sleep,  any  more.  I  will 
with  pleasure  the  early  excursions  of  the  "^'  "'^• 

unfledged  mind.  •' My  dear  boy,  look  at  Quibo:    he  has 

When  we  first  become  conscicus  of  our  fjet,  but  he  cannot  walk;  he  has  h^nds,  but 
own  existence,  every  thing  is  new— every  he  cannot  bend  his  bow,  or  take  an  arrow 
thing  delightful.  We  inquire  not  whence  from  his  quiver  ;  be  has  eyes,  but  he  cannot 
we  came;  we  rejoice  because  we  are.  see  the  sun  rise  among  the  trees  of  the 
The  brisk  circulation  of  the  blood  and  the  forest:  the  life— the  spirit — the  thought  of 
kindly  flow  of  the  animal  spirits  impel  us  to  Quibo  is  gone  away  to  the  land  of  souls." 
action.  We  find  it  impossible  lo  control  the  Sudden  as  a  flash  of  lightning  from  a  sum- 
Jumultuous  emotions  of  exultati<  n  and  j"y.  mer  cloud,  sprang  up  a  new  and  delightful 
We  have  no  power  to  remain  in  one  place  idea:  Quibo  is  not  aW  dead;  his  thought  is 
or  continue  sileni :  we  run,  we  scream,  we  gone  to  another  country.  "  Where  is  the 
leap  "likQ  roes  or  young  harts  on  the  moun-  land  of  souls?"  Oconi-mico  took  me  by 
tains  of  spices."  But  this  blissful  period  the  hand  and  led  me  to  the  door  of  our  hut. 
passes  away  as  a  dream,  and  visits  us  no  »  Raise  your  eyes,  my  son,  and  observe  those 
more.  Our  prospeca  become  suddenly  red  clouds  in  the  heavens."  "  I  observe 
darkened  :  some  faint  idea  of  evil,  of  sorrow,  them."  "  Do  you  see  those  blue  mountains, 
and  of  death,  passes  through  the  mind.  whose  towering  summits  are  mixed  with 

The  first  thought  concerning  the  final  the  descendmg  clouds]"  "I  see  them." 
period  of  our  joys  and  of  our  existence  is  •»  Beyond  these  mountains,  there  is  a  wide 
inexpressibly  distressing.  "  Must  1  die  river ;  beyon^l  that  river,  there  is  a  great 
bIso'?"  said  I  to  the  sage  Oconi-mico —  country ;  on  the  other  side  of  that  country, 
"must  I  die  as  well  as  Quibo]  "Thou  there  'is  a.  world  of  loater ;  in  that  water 
must  also  die,"  answered  Oconi-mico."  Shall  there  are  a  thousand  islands:  the  sun  is 
I  no  more  walk?  Shall  1  no  more  climb  up  gone  down  among  them.  These  islands 
the  mountain  of  buffaloes  ?  Shall  I  no  more  are  full  of  fruit  trees  and  streams  of  water, 
shake  the  fiuit  from  the  beautiful  pawpaw  A  thousand  buffaloes  and  ten  thousand  deer 
tree,  or  swim  in  the  waters  of  Tuckabatchee?  graze  on  the  hills  or  ruminate  in  the  val- 
Shall  I  no  more,  dear  Oconi-mico,  shall  I  leys."  "  When  I  die,  shall  I  become  an 
no  mote  see  the  sun  rise  among  the  trees  of  inhabitant  of  those  islands  ?"  "  Love  your 
the  forest?"  "My  dear  child,"  said  Oconi-  friends ;  become  a  great  warrior;  and  when 
mice,  "  behold  the  stalks  of  maize,  do  they  you  die,  the  good  spirit  will  convey  you  to 
flourish  longer  than  one  season  ?  Observe  the  land  of  souls,  where  Quibo  is."  "  Who 
the  trees  of  the  forest ;  they  grow  old  and  is  the  good  spirit  ?  Where  is  he  ?"  "  He 
become  rotten :  must  a  man  live  for  ever  1  is  above  the  stars ;  he  sends  down  the  rain 


6  THE  SAVAGE. 

the  hail,  and  the  stiow  ;  anil  he  passes  by  in  bottom  of  a  well,  probably  to  signify  that  it 

the  wild  tornado."     Bid  children,  like  the  was  acquired   by   immense   labor  and  with 

Bon  of  Ottoma,  go  down  into  the  earth,  to  a  great  difficulty.     These   philosophers  have 

dark  place,  where  dwell  the  wicked  spirits,  thought  proper  to  bring  up  truth   from  the 

My  chil  I,  yonr  mind  is  fiiiigiied  «s  well  as  shades;  but  a  much   more  numerous  class 

your  body.     You  must  go  to  rest.     To-mor-  h^s  deduced  in  origin  from  above.     Was  it 

row  you  shnll  see  Quibo."  the  nngol  Gabriel  that  brought  down  the 

He  took  mc  in  his  arms  and  bore  me  to  leaves  of  the  koian  for  the  illustrious  Mo- 

my   couch:  lie  wiped   away  the  tears  from  hammed?     These  were  said  to  contain  the 

my  checks  with  the  backof  iii.-i  ii'.ind,  adding,  very  quintesscrice  of  tiuth,  and  teach  every 

*' llest  in  peace  :  the  go:)d  being  will  send  th.iug  th  it  was  necessary  to   be  known  by 

down  his  angels  to  watch  over  your  eluiu-  the  children  of  men. 

bers."  I  slept;  and  sweet  was  my  ro;)ose.  Hnw  many  go  is>  and  how  many  goddesses, 
What  c;in  soothe  and  calm  the  mind  like  at  different  times,  have  left  ihc  t^tarry  pave- 
the  proteftiiiii  of  a  gr.'^at  and  b^nevnlent  ment  of  the  celestial  regions  and  come  down 
being?  The  child  miy  repose  confidence  lor  our  instruction  and  entettainment .' 
in  the  arm  (jf  iis  father:  but,  to  wli.im  shall  .A.mong  the  Greeks  and  amnnir  llie  Romius, 
t!)e  fitlier  look  up  lor  support .'  H- is  con-  how  many  sasrcs  caught  insp  r.ition  !  how 
eciou.^  of  his  own  weakne.-^s.  an  I  feels  his  mmy  sihy's  uttered  tho  oracles  of  the  di- 
dependence  on  every  thing  that  siirrcunds  vinify  !  Yet.  notwith^tan  ling  all  the  be- 
iiim.  He  c:innot  subject  nature  to  his  em-  nevolent  e.xrrt  ons  < S  gods  and  denii-gods, 
pire,  nrr  drive  the  planets  from  thf  ir  orbits,  heroes  and  page?,  we  still  remainr^l  en- 
Must  he  su'imit  to  thr;  operati m  of  c.unes  velopel  in  thick  dark-'egs  until  the  "day- 
an  I  cft';cts?      .Mu,-it  h  ;  dip  an  i  be  firgut  en  spring  from  on  high"  shed  its  e.nhlffence  on 

forever!     Or  is  there  any  truth  in  ihe  ctm-  theejrth and  even  yet  we  srrope-  tlirnush 

Bolatory  invitation  :   "C.xne  unto  me,  a  1  ye  a  darkness  that  may  be  fdt  ;  we  wander 

thit  are  weary  an  I  heivy-i  iden,  and    I  will  cheerlessly  through    the    '-valley    of   the 

give  you  rest."    Ch.dstims!    Your   religion  sltadow  of  death"  whers  no  one  cirt  aflbrd 

sounds  swe2t]y  in  the   ears  ofa    weak   and  u.'?  a.^-i^tance. 

erring  cr.'attire,  like  man.     It  speaks  to  the  What  is  trnlh?  and  wherecan  it  he  fiuind? 

heart,  afliirds  a  refusre  to  tiie  in's-r  ible.  and  The  chemist  expects  to  find  it  in  his  criici- 

provido:^  a  remedy  for  fvery  evil :  I  lit  I  can-  blp;  the  mathematician  sees  it  in  a  triangle, 

not  divest  myself  of  my  originil   opinions,  a  circle,  vr  a  parallelogram;  acd  the  meta- 

How  indclio  e  are  the   impressions  we  re-  physician  ditcovcrs  it  in  the  eternal  fitness 

ceivc   in    child. lood!     Fifiy  summers   have  of  tilings. 

browned   my  visage,  and  fifty  w  inters  Inve  Great   was   the   search,   some     hundred 

fuiroweJ  my  cheek;  yet  still   the  maxims  years   ago,  for  the    plulo.-ophei's  s!o'ie,  for 

of  Ocmi-mico  are  depply  engraven  on  the  the  alkihest,  and  fiir  the  elixr  of  l.fe;  but 

tablets  of  my  mind.     The  sun  of  i-cience  has  some  sceptics  assert   that  there  is  no  philo- 

slriven  in  viin  to  dissipite  the  darkness  of  sophei's  stone,   no  alkahest,   ift   elixir   of 

my  superstition  ;  still  I  ec-  my  god  in  the  li:e. 

black  clou  I,  and  li-ten  to  "  the  voice  ot  his  Some  have  drawn  a  comparison  between 

excellency"  in  the  thunder;  still  he  reigns  these   alchemists  and  the    investigators  of 

in  the  tern  lest,  and  p  iSiGs  by  in  the  torn  do.  truth:  they  assert  th'^re  is  no  truth  in  a  well: 

Navigatnrs   inform   me  that  there  is  no  they  aver  tliat  it  is  not  to   be  found   in  the 

heaven  lor  Indiana  in  the  soutlurn  seas ;  yet  crucible  of  the  chemist;  and  they  pronounce, 

my  fncy  can  people  still  a  thousand  islan's  without   hesitation,  that  there    is    no   such 

with    the    brave  spirits  of  my  forefathers,  thing  as  a  circle,  a  triangle,  or  a  parallelo- 

Btill  I  see   their  shadowy  forms   chase  the  gram   in   nature.     They  say  that  when  we 

fleo'.ing  deer  over  visionary  hills,  and  I  sigh  follow  truth  \vc  pursue  a  phantom  of  tho 

for  their  company  and  their  joys.  imagination,  and  are  led  away  by  an  ignus 
To  be  CO  it  nucd.                        fuluus   which    will    entice   us   forward    to 

swamps  cf  difficulty,  to  a  reirion  o^d")uh"Si 

What  is  Truth?  and  a  land  of  shadows,   '-'hev  tell  us  that  tho 

What  is  truth?     This  inqui'-y  has  b.'ea  theory  of  the  metaphysician  is  equally  er- 

mide  by  tho  isands  in  all  ages  ot  the  world,  roneous  ;  tha^  there   is  no  eternal  fitness  of 

yet  still   remiins  umnswered.     We   have  things;  that  there  is  nothing  but  discor- 

neither  discovered  what  it  is,  nor  wh'  re  it  dance  and  opposition  in  rebus  naturae, 

may  be  tbiini.     Some  of  the  ancients  went  When  tired  with  this  seep  ical  philosophy, 

down  to  look  for  this  jewel  in  the  bowels  of  we  may  listen  to  the  precepts  of  another  not 

the  earth.     'J'hey  said  that  truth  was  at  the  less  gloomy.     Truth,  they  say,  may  exist, 


.    THE  SAVAGE,  7 

but  is  tinworthy  of  so  rmich  labor  and  fa-  tains  her  secret?,  tlieir  happiness  is  blighted- 
tigue.  There  may  be  such  a  thing  as  the  Foolisli  men  !  to  break  the  glasses  through 
philosopher's  stone — as  a  universal  diesol-  which  their  mothers  and  nurses  were  con- 
vent— as  tlie  elixir  of  immortality  ;  but  the  tent  to  receive  the  rays  of  knowledge! 
discovery  would  be  productive  of  the  mot^t  Foolish  men!  lo  soar  with  waxen  winsfs 
serious  consequences  in  the  great  economy  above  the  atmosphere  of  prejudice  which 
of  nature.  Let  us  amuse  ourselves,  say  surrounds  the  dwellings  of  their  fathers  I 
they,  with  the  pleasing  delusios  of  life,  and  Render  not,  O  ye  sons  of  men,  the  common 
not  lose  our  time  in  searching  alter  realities,  occurrences  of  liie  insipid,  by  your  JbZZy, 
Nature  has  hung  out  a  thousand  painted  de-  which  you  are  pleased  to  digniiy  with  tlie 
ceptions  to  hide  from  our  eyes  tjie   real  na-  name  of  wisdom. 

ture  of  things.  Is  not  this  a  sutficient  inti-  Be  as  other  men.  Seize  the  rattleof  folly ; 
mation  that  that  which  is  concealed  is  disa-  d;ince  to  the  piping  of  a  giddy  multitude; 
greeable?  Is  there  any  such  tiling  as  colors  write  trciti-^es  concerning  eternity  in  the 
inherent  in  bodies  1  yet  witlicut  this  pleas-  sand;  build  pyramids  of  snow  to  iiumortalize 
ing  illusion,  what  a  world  of  defoimit\^  your  names;  erect  dams  with  grayliaired 
should  we  have!  Nature  is  the  very  grave  ciiihiren  in  the  mountain  torrent ;  and  sport 
of  abomination.  Well  :  tear  down  the  wall  witli  your  brother  insects  in  the  sunbeam* 
of  the  whited  sepulchre,  and  within  you  will  of  the  evening. — But  should  truth  present 
find — "rottenness  and  dead  men's  bones."  her  flirnbeiu  to  your  eyes — the  illusion  is 
O!  ye  creatures  of  the  moment,  let  us  dance  gone — the  "painted  cloilds  that  beautify 
after  the  rainbow  of  hope,  and  revel  in  the  our  da^'s"  are  vanished;  and — grenl  God! 
light  and  airy  fields  of  imTginatioti.  Let  us  what  a  w^'ste — "dark  dismal  wild" — ap- 
skim  lightly  over  the  surface  of  nature  :  the  pears!  Whit  a  chaos  of  forms  without 
flowers  grow  on  the  surface  ;  and  honey  reality  !  What  myriad.s  of  shadows,  with- 
may  be  extracted  from  flowers.  Let  us  be  out  substance,  fleet  through  a  uni\erseof 
content  vviih  the  trimmings,  the  colorings,  nonentities! — 

the  hangings  that  immediately  meet  the  Fiction  is  lovely  ;  O  ye  sons  of  men,  re- 
eye  :  they  are  designed  to  conceal  the  joice  in  her  smiles:  but  fly  from  the  chani- 
gloomy  walls  of  our  apartment.  bers  of  Truth  ;  she  is  a  gorgon,  a  hydra,  a 

Let  us  look  back  upon  our  past  lives  and   fury  ! — 
examine  our  own  min;!?,  that  we  may  see  if       What  shall  we   say,  when  we   hear   the 
there  be   not  more   happiness  in  error  than   various;  opinions  of  men  on  these  subjects  ? 
in  reality.     Which  have  been  our  happiest   What  shall  we  do,  but  mourn  over  the  folly, 
moments  !  those,  in  which  we  have  searched  tlie  imbecility,  the  insanity  of  man  ! 
successlully  into  the  nature  of  things!  those,  

in  which  the  light  of  truth  has  beamed  upon  y^     .        ^  n-  ,•     ,- 

.      ,  1         ui  J        *     I-  -.u  JJesire  of  JjLslmction. 

our  heads,  and  enabled  us  to  discover,  with  -^ 

precision,  the  surrounding  objects'*     I  am  The  desire  of  distiisction  is  so  strong  in 

afraid  that  "the  result  of  our  investigation  the  human  mind,  that  men  lay  hold  of  any 

will  be,  that  our  davs  of  bliss  were  days  of  thing  however  insignificant  tnat  may  render 

ignorarce;  and  we  shall  be  led  to  conclude,  them  conspicuous.     Is  a  man,  by  some  acci- 

with  the  preacher,  that  in  "much  knowledge  dent,  a  fev/  inciies  taUer  than  an.)ther,  you 

there  is  much  grief "   Should  we  not  rather  may    immedi^Jely   perceive   that  he  values 

endeavor  lo  multiply  these  happy  delusions  himself  on  his  towering  figure.     Is  he  well 

than  to  clear  tl. em  away  ?     If  light  discover  sjt,  and    possessed   of  brawny   limbs;  you 

nothing  but  "sights  of  wo,"   had  we   not  will  fin.l  him  anxiously  contending  tor  pre- 

betler  remain  in  darkne.^s]    My  sick  brother  eminence  by  measuring  round  ihe  breast  or 

is  asleep;  he  drexnjs  of  light,  life  and  joy.  taking  the  circumference  of  t'le  thigh,  with 

I  see  a  smile  on  his  countenance.     Shall  I  his  athletic  competiiors. 

awake  him  to  a  life  of  misery,  sorrow  and  I  c\nnot  rtimeinbcr  of   having  observed 

pain"?     Or  shall  I  nrit  rather  re-nove  every  any  of  these  candidates  for  tamo  wiio  were 

intruding  noise,  darken  the  windows,  and  desirous  of  the  distinction  arising  from  tho 

leave  him  to  repose  ?  prominence  of  their  iellies;  yet  nothing  is 

Children  are  happy:  and  were  men  con-  more  •common  than  to  hear  a  man  boast  of 

tent  to  remain  children  through  life,  they  having  swallowed  so  many  oysters,  eaten  so 

might  be   hap[)y  also.     But  w  hen  they   be-  many  eggs,  devoured   so   many  pounds   of 

come   infatuated  with  the   desire  of  know-  beef  steaks,   &c.     What    honor  do   tiieso 

ledge,  and,  with  a  daring  hand,  attempt  to  idiats  expect  to  derive  from  the  strength  of 

remove   the   veil   with    which   nature   has  th-.-ir   stomachs   or   tho   capacity  of    their 

tliought  proper  to  cover  the  ark  wiiioh  con-  p.xunclios  ? 


6 


THE  SAVAGE. 


Why,  they  hope  to  have  it  said  in  some  Jtmo.  Mercury  has  lost  his  wand,  and 
tavern  or  beerhouse  that  "John  Gorinand  is  Pallas  her  egis.  Etna  and  Lemnos  remain ; 
the  <Zamne</esMellow  to  cat  that  ever  lived,  but  where  is  the  blacksmith  of  Jupiter  T 
He  demolislieil,  the  other  ilay,  at  the  sign  of  The  wind  raises  the  waves  without  the  ae- 
the  Mousetrap,  a  whole  round  of  beef,  eat  sistance  ot  f^olus,  and  the  storm  is  calmed 
ten  dozen  of  oysters,  ten  doz?n  of  eggs,  five  without  the  interference  of  Neptune.  Bac- 
pound  of  cheese,  drank  a  gallon  of  becT,  and  cluis  is  de|irived  of  his  thyrsis,  and  the 
then  refused  to  piy  25  cents  fur  his  dinner,  mysteries  of  Ceres  are  secure  from  profana- 
because  ihere  was  not  a  bufficiency  of  pro-  t:on.  Thetis  and  the  nereids  are  no  more ; 
visions."  we  hear  not  the  shell  of  the  tritons.     The 

I  knew  two  graziers  to  lay  a  very  con-  dryads  and  hamadryads  have  forsaten  iHe 
aiderable  bet  on  who  could  eat  the  most  woo Js, and  the  naiads  deserted  the  fountains, 
lobster. — Both  eat  til  they  could  not  walk  Hippocrene  is  dry;  the  muses  have  escaped 
and  then  left,  the  matter  undetermined,  to  heaven.  The  shepherds  have  lost  the 
The  gentlemen  were  wealthy;  ihey  did  not  protection  of  Pan,  and  the  orchards  the  care 
gormandize  for  the  money  that  was  betted,  of  Pomoni.  Prinpns  has  ceased  to  'fray 
but  for  the    sake  of  an   immortal  name,    away' the  birds,  or  interrupt  the  inc.intalioa 


Such  men  appear  determined  to  deprive 
"Robin  a  Bobbin  the  Bigbellied  Hen"  of  his 
long  established  superiority :  of  whose  e.K- 
ploits,  in  this  way,  it  is  recorded  in  heroic 
verse  that  "  Ik^  would  eat  more  than  three- 
score men ;"  that 

"  A  cow  and  a  calf, 
"  An  ux  and  a  halt. 
Was  Robbiii  a  Bolubin's  morning  bit.' 

And  afterwards,  it  is  sublimely  added, 
that 

"He  licked  the  ladle,  and  swallowed  the  spoon, 
And  was  not  lull  when  ail  was  done." 

There  are  other?,  who  are  scarcely  loss 
deserving  of  a  statue  than  those  last  men- 


ot  witches.     No  longer 

"  Satyrs  and  sylvan  boys  are  seen. 
Peeping  (rom  Ibrth  their  alleys  green." 

The  harpies  are  expelled  from  their  king- 
dom ;  and  the  sirens  have  ceased  to  practise 
their  allurements. 

Charon  has  been  shipwrecked  in  the  Styx; 
Ct  rberus  has  been  deprived  of  his  heads; 
and  the  snakes  have  been  taken  from  the 
furies.  Minos  is  no  longer  judge  ;  Phlege- 
tlion  has  ceased  to  burn;  and  the  frogs  of 
hell  have  desisted  from  croaking.  The 
wheel  of  Lxion  revolves  no  longer;  the 
Danaides  have  filled  their  urns;  and  Sisy- 
phus rests  from  his  labors.     The  pythia  is 


tioned,  who  p'ume  themselves  on  having  not  forced  to  the  tripod  ;  the  cave  of  Tro' 
drunk  bottles  of  brandy,  decanted  dozens  of  phonius  is  neglected ;  and  the  smoke  of  the 
madeira,  and  swilled  oceans  of  port.  Such  sacrifice  has  ceased  to  ascend.  Where  is 
heroes  shall  have  a  niche  in  the  Temple  of  the  oak  of  Dodoual  where  are  the  sibyls  of 
Fame,  ab.iut  to  be  established  under  the  di-   Cuma? 


But  there  is  one  of  the  ancient  divinitie's 
who  has  maintained  his  situation  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  cfibrts  of  philosophy  and  the  be- 
nign influence  of  the  gospel.  He  is  wor- 
shipped with  more  sincere  devotion  at  this 
•  lay,  than  he  has  been  at  any  former  period. 


rection  of  the  savage  Piomingo. 

THEOLOGY. 

The  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans  worship- 
ped a  multitude  of  gods:  the  heavens,  the 

e  irth,  and  hades  swarmed  with  innumerable  ^ ,                                          .                .    . 

divmities.     All    the   virtues   and    vices  of  His  temples  are  crowded  from  morn mg  until 

humanity,  and  all   the  operations  of  nature,  evening  by  humble  votaries  of  all  sexes  and 

were  under  the  direction  of  superintending  ages.     They  do  not  serve  him  with  "inere 

deities :  and  these  gods  being  unaccountably  lip  service  ;"  for  they  have  "his  law  written 

prolific,  there  was   no  space  left  in  nature  in  their  hearts."     He  is  not  the  true  God  : 

that  did  not  teem  with  their  progeny.    The  yet  they  adore  him  "  with  all  their  heart, 

progress   of  science  and  thu  light  of  the  and  with  all   their  soul,  and  with  all  their 

gospel  have  contributed  to  lessen  the  num-  strength,  and  with  all  their  mind."     They 

ber  of  immortals.     Jupiter  has  forsaken  the  offer  up  at  his  shrine,  as  Ircewill   offerings, 

Capitol,  the  thunder  has  been  wrested  from  every  thing  that  is  precious  aqd  valuable, 

hi^  hand,  and  the  father   of  gods  and  men  He  is  not   Moloch  :    yet  they  make   their 

i.-3  forgotten.     Neptune  has  lost  the  dominion  children  pass  through  the  fire  lor  his  sake, 

of  the  v.ave's,  and   Pluto,  the  empire  of  the  He  is  a  very  old  god,  and  has  performed 

shades.     The  sun  is  no  longer  in  tlie  chariot  innumerable  exploitsof  the  inost  heroic  kind, 

of  .Apollo,  nor  the  moon  under  the  regency  A  thousand  volume^  in  folio,  would  not  bo 

of  his  sister.     Paplios  and  t^ypriis  are  de-  sufficient  to  certain  the  thousandth  part  of 

sorted  by  Venus,  and  Samos  and  Argos  by  the  wonders  he  has  effected.     What  aretho 


THE  SAVAGE. 


labors  of  Hercalfts,  the  feats  of  Samson,  tite 
wars  of  the  giants,  the  building  of  pyramids, 
Uie  turning  aside  of  rivers,  and  removing 
mountains  ]  What  are  such  trifles  as  these 
when  compared  with  the  stupendous  opera- 
tions of  the  god  of  the  civilized  world  ? 

Question :  Who  is  he  ? 

Ansioer :  He  was  worshipped  by  tlie 
children  of  Israel  in  the  wilderness,  when 
Moses  tarried  so  long  in  the  mount.  Do 
you  know  him"? 

There  are  not  seven  tliousand  in  the 
United  Stales,  who  have  not  bowed  the  knee 
to  this  Baal  of  the  moderns,  and  whose  lips 
have  not  kissed  him.  By  the  ancients  he 
was  called  Plutus;  in  heaven,  he  is  not 
known  :  and  on  earth,  he  is  yclept  The 
Mammon  of  unrighteousness. 

Quid  non  morlalia  pectora  cogia. 

Auri  sacra  fames?  » 

Longina;  after  Immortality. 

The  desire  of  being  remembered  when  we 
are  no  more  is  deeply  implanted  in  the 
human  mind.  We  all  cast  "a  longing 
lingering  look  behind''  and  desire  to  know 
what  will  be  said  of  us  when  we  are  no 
more.  "  I  shall  not  altogether  die  !"  was 
the  triumphant  exclamation  of  a  poet  of 
antiquity,  when  speaking  of  the  productions 
of  his  brain  :  "  I  sliall  leave  a  memorial  of 
myself  is  the  idea  of  the  swain  who  rudely 
carves  the  initials  of  his  name  on  the 
glossy  surface  of  a  beach  tree  in  the 
forest. 

The  idler  who  cuts  letters  with  his  knife 
on  the  bencjies  in  our  public  walks,  the  poet 
who  writes  verses  with  his  pencil  on  the 
boards  of  the  summer  house  are  equally 
anxious,  that  ai  least  some  part  of  them  may 
escape  the  ravages  of  the  gloomy  Liliiiina. 

We  do  not  attempt  to  condemn  this  pro- 
pensity merely  because  it  discovers  itself  in 
trifles.  No:  had  circumstances  favored  the 
ambition  of  these  candidates  for  immortality, 
they  might  have  plundered  cities,  ravaged 
kingdoms,  established  empires,  and- become 
"  mighty  hunters"  on  the  earth.  This  is 
the  same  principle  which  induced  men  in 
early  ages  to  say  to  each  other :  "  Go  to,  let 
us  build  us  a  city  and  a  tower,  whose  top 
may  reach  to  heaven  ;  and  let  us  malie  us  a 
name " 

(COMMt'NICATION) 

Piomingo,  As  I  know  that  you  have  pe- 
rused with  considerable  attention  our  sacred 
books,  and  frequently  attended  our  places  of 
worship,  in  your  peregrinations  through 
these  United  States,  I  cannot  resist  the  in- 
clination I  feel  to  request  you  to  give  the 
B 


public  some  idea  of  the  impression  these 
thingps  made  on  your  mind. 

Does  there  not  appear  to  be  an  immense 
disparity  between  the  conduct  of  the  primi- 
tive and  modern  christians  ]  Were  you  not, 
at  first,  almost  led  to  form  the  conclusion, 
that  the  latter  could  not  be  derived  from  the 
former]  Or  did  you  suppose  it  possible 
that  they  might  be  the  same  people  in  a  stale 
of  extreme  degeneracy  and  degradation? 
The  principles  and  practice  of  the  early 
christians  appear  to  have  been  consentane- 
ous; but  will  any  person  in  his  senses  as- 
sert that  the  conduct  of  tlie  moderns  is  con- 
formable with  the  precepts  laid  down  in  their 
books] 

I  do  not  intend  to  request  you  to  particu- 
larize all  the  instances  in  which  this  dis- 
parity is  glaringly  apparent.  That  would 
be  an  unreasonable  request.  This  is  a  bound- 
less subject :  and  were  yon  to  engage  in  it, 
I  know  not  how  you  would  bring  it  to  n  con- 
clusion. Of  one  thing  I  am  certain;  the 
topic  would  not  easily  be  exhausted. 

Should  you  be  fortunate  in  your  present 
undertaking,  1  hope  you  will  touch  on  this 
subject  occasionally.  It  must  be  admitted, 
on  all  hands,  that  every  man  of  honor  ia 
bound  by  the  professions  he  thinks  proper 
deliberately  to  make :  therefore,  no  man, 
nor  set  of  men,  can  think  it  hard  that  their 
actions  should  be  compared  with  that  stand- 
ard which  they  have  deliberately  and  solemn- 
ly published  to  the  world,  as  the  rule  by 
which  their  conduct  is  to  be  regulated. 

I  hope.  Piomingo,  that  you  will  not  be 
backward  to  take  notice  of  the  errors  and 
follies  you  may  observe  among  us.  If  we 
go  wrong,  we  cannot  plead  ignorance  as  an 
excuse  Ox-  palliaLion  for  our  errors.  We 
have  eBJoyed  great  advantages  over  your 
nation  and  the  other  aborigines  of  America. 
They,  a' as  !  have  long  wandered  in  the  de- 
vious paths  of  error ;  but  I  hope  the  time  is 
not  far  distant  when  they  who  have  walked 
in  darkness  will  see  a  marvellous  light 

Old  Age. 
"Thou  shall  rise  up  before  the  hoary  head, 

and  honor  the  face  of  an  old  man 1  am  the 

Lord." 

This  benevolent  precept  is  found  in  the 
law,  which  was  delivered  to  Moses.  The 
Jews  ma} ,  for  aught  we  know  to  the  con- 
trary, observe  this  commandment;  but  the 
christians,  we  suppose,  consider  it  as  a  part 
of  the  ceremonial  law ;  and  therefore  not 
binding  on  them  or  their  posterity.  We 
have  often  heard  religious  sophists  discuss 
this  knotty  point  about  the  moral  and  cere- 
monial   laws   with   uncommon    ingenuity. 


10 


THE  SAVAGE. 


Whenever  any  of  the  preempts  or  command- 
ments found  in  the  five  bonks  of  Mo?es  or 
indeed  in  any  part  of  the  Old  or  New  Tepta- 
ment,  appeared  repugnant  to  tlie  doctrines 
of  the  church  or  tJie  practices  of  Ihe  faith- 
ful, tliese  bihlical  critics  will  be  sure  to  in- 
form you  ihat  they  are  a  part  of  the  cere- 
monial law  ;  and  th<  refore  not  to  be  ob- 
Berved  by  ciiristians  under  the  new  dispen- 
Bation.  Now  as  we  have  never  seen  a  young 
christian  "  rise  up  to  the  hoary  head  or  honor 
the  face  of  an  old  man,"  unless  his  age  were 
supported  by  wealth  or  authority,  we  are 
jiecessarily  led  to  suppose  that  the  precept 
above  mentioned  is  considered  as  a  part  of 
the  ceremonial  law  of  the  Jews,  and  im- 
poses no  obligation  on  "the  children  of  the 
kingdom." 

Among  the  savages  of  America  age  is 
universally  respected.  All  unite  to  honor 
the  face  of  the  old  man  whenever  he  ap- 
pears, whether  his  blanket  be  old  or  new, 
his  pipe  pliin  or  ornamenteri  with  silver. 
But  among  the  civilized  Americans  I  have 
always  seen  age,  particularly  if  it  exhibited 
any  appearance  of  poverty  or  infirmity, 
neglected  or  insulted. 

Does  the  old  jnan  appear  desirous  to  relate 
any  of  his  boyish  exploits;  no  one  is  dis- 
posed to  listen.  No  one  can  afford  time  to 
attend  to  the  old  dotard,  who  had  better  be 
in  his  bed  or  in  h^s  grave  than  to  be  here 
toring  us  with  his  antediluvian  perform- 
ances. 

If  the  old  man  be  possessed  of  any  pro- 
perty, it  is  a  hundred  to  one  but  some  finely 
polished  and  highly  civilized  young  chris 
tian  will  observe,  "Damn  the  old  codger: 
I  wish  he  was  in  hell,  and  I  had  his  mo- 
ney."   

THE  SAVAGE-~NO  11. 

Effects  of  Civilization. 
A  stoical  indifference  to  bodily  pain  13,  among 
savag'cs,  one  of  tJie  first  lessons  of  )'outh. 
Fortitude  to  bear  every  evil,  and  resolution  to 
meet  every  danger,  arc  inculcated  upon  us  by 
cur  teachers,  as  virtues  of  the  first  magnitude. 
To  suffer  pain  without  complaint,  and  even 
with  cheerfulaess,  is  made  the  great  romT  or 
HONOR.  There  is  no  such  tliinor  as  coercion  in 
the  savage  system  of  education.  We  arc 
proud  of  doing'  right,  and  ashamed  of  doing 
wrong.  Wc  are  tauglit  to  consider  ourselves 
as  superior  to  circumstances :  at  least,  we  are 
enabled  to  preserve  a  decent  tranquility  of 
mind  in  the  midst  of  tlic  greatest  possible  ad- 
versity. It  is  known  to  us,  that  the  vicissitudes 
of  li'e  will  expose  us  to  misfortunes  of  various 
kinds.  We  must  support  the  burning  hc.it  of 
the  summer's  sun,  and  the  intense  severity  of 
the  winter's  cold.  We  must  submit  to  hunger 
and  thirst  and  a  multitude  of  other  privations. 


We  must  suffer  sickness  ancfpnin.  We  may 
be  reduced  to  a  state  of  servitude.  Wc  may 
become  ca|jtives,  and  consequently  be  exposed 
to  every  s;)ecies  of  torture  thiit  Imman  inifc- 
nuity  c:in  invent,  or  the  most  violent  animosity 
can  inflict.  All  these  things  being  known  to 
our  philosophic  seniors,  tliey  exercise  our  bo- 
dies, and  discipline  our  minds,  in  such  a  man- 
ner, that  we  are  enabled  to  maintain  a  dignity 
of  character  in  every  emergency. 

We  become  patictit  of  heat  and  regardless  of 
cold.  Wc  learn  to  subduo  the  cravings  of 
hunger  without  food ;  and  to  allay,  without 
drink,  the  parchings  of  thirst.  We  can  indulge 
in  a  feast  of  i)car  meat  and  vcni-on,  or  subsist 
on  the  roots  of  the  desert.  Untaught  by  philo- 
sophy, wc  enjov  the  present  moment;  unin- 
strucled  in  Christianity,  we  "take  no  tliought 
for  the  morrow  :"  we  oppose  our  naked  breasts 
to  the  beating  of  the  storm ;  a"d  a  fearless 
spirit  to  every  difficully. 

It  is  well  knovpn  to  us,  that  the  time  of  our 
existence  here  is  a  period  of  exertion.  Wc 
are  tauglit  therefore  to  meet  unavoid  ible  danger 
with  resolution,  and  to  remove  the  greatest 
difRculti- s  by  perseverance.  We  are  obliged 
to  climb  the  highest  mountain,  leap  down  the 
steepest  precipice, and  swim  the  wildest  torrent. 
The  science  of  hunting  engages  our  earliest 
attention.  We  study  the  nature  of  our  game, 
the  time  of  the  d  ly,  and  the  season  of  the 
year.  We  know  where  to  find  tlie  buffjlocs  in 
the  morning;  and  where  they  may  be  disco- 
vered in  the  beat  of  the  day.  Wc  know  when 
they  visit  the  low  maishy  salt  springs,  and 
when  they  descend  to  cool  themselves  in  the 
river.  Wc  can  rouse  the  deer  from  his  lair  in 
tlie  ("rosfy  morning,  and  trace  him  over  the 
hills  by  the  nev^ly  i;>Jlen  snow.  We  surprise 
the  wolf  in  his  gloomy  haunts,  or  destroy  him 
in  his  foraging  excursions.  We  rouse  the  bear 
in  his  den,  and  shoot  the  panther  among  the 
rocks.  We  fix  our  traps  for  the  fox,  end  drive, 
by  stratagem,  the  beaver  from  his  fortified 
habitation.  W^e  find  the  wild  cat  on  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  raccoon  in  the  heads  of  the  val- 
leys. We  know  the  haunts  of  the  otter;  and 
the  muskrat  we  shoot  as  he  peeps  from  his 
hole.  W^e  kill  the  mink  on  tlie  banks  of  the 
stream,  and  the  groundhog  on  the  s-ide  of  liie 
hill.  We  knovv'  the  daily  rounds  of  the  turkey  : 
we  take  him  on  his  roosL,  or  shoot  him  on  iho 
ridges.  Vv^c  shoot  the  geese  in  their  flight,  or 
kill  them  when  settled  in  the  ponds.  Wc  see 
the  slightest  traces  in  the  forest ;  we  hear  the 
least  rustling  among  the  branches;  and  we 
S7nell  the  approaches  of  the  serpent.  We  climb 
round  the  rocks,  slip  through  the  cane,  and 
skulk  along  tlic  valleys.  We  study  the  course 
of  the  wind  in  our  approaches,  or  breathe  on 
fire,  lest  we  taint  the  purity  of  the  gale.  Wc 
know  the  course  our  game  will  pursue,  before 
he  has  been  roused  from  his  harbor.  We  take 
the  opposite  direction,  and  meet  him  as  he  turns 
round  the  hill.  We  guide  our  course  through 
the  boundless  wilderness,  by  the  sun,  moon, 


THE  SAVAGE.  u 

and  stars,  and  even  by  the  appearance  of  the  But  let  him  get  home  a^aln.  The  sijrht  of 
trees  of  the  forest.  Wc  pcrfjrm  the  most  in-  his  barn  door,  and  the  "appearance  of  old 
credible  journeys  without  fatigue,  crossing  the  Towaer— the  bawling  of  his  black  cow,  and 
widost  rivers  ou  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  Through  the  smell  of  his  hogsty— the  squallino-  of  his 
the  immense  desert  wo  are  fimiliar  with  every  brats,  and  his  snug  chimney  corner— all  in 
hill,  and  at  home  on  tlie  bank  of  every  rivulet,  sweet  succession — revive,  invio-oratc,  and  re- 
Wc  walk  p'oudly  on  the  hills:  and  from  the  store  him.  Having  turned  off  a  mucr  of  cider 
towering  sum  nits  of  tlie  Appalichian  moun-  he  "  is  himself  again."  And  then— nn*I  then 
tains,  we  look  down,  with  ineffible  contempt,  — the  d.mgers  and  escapes,  tlie  windmills  and 
on  the  brutelike  drtidgery o^ cw'iWzqA  life.  the   giants,  the    ghosts  and  the   savages,  the 

Thus  the  wild  horse  snuff.;  the  western  thunder  and  the  lightning,  the  battles'jnd  the 
breeze,  bounds  joyously  over  the  hills,  laughs  conquests,  astonish  and  confound  the  gapinw 
at  the  rattling  of  the  chains,  and  despises  the  auditors. 

bridle  and  the  plougli.  Is  this  the  man  you  would  compare  with  the 

VVe  build  dams  in  the  rivers  ;  and  shoals  of  savage  ?  Is  this  the  man  you  would  prefer  to 
fish  pour  into  our  biskcts.     Tticy  arc  arresled  the  lord  of  the  desert? 

In  tiieir  course  by  our  arrows  and  our  gigs;  or  Man  is  said  to  be  composed  of  two  parts  : 
they  are  lured  to  destruction  by  the  temptation  body  and  soul.  Now,  pray  be  so  good  as  to 
of  our  biit.  Wc  bid  tliem  assemble  together,  inform  me  whether  it  be  the  holy  or  soul  of 
and  wc  scoop  them  up  witii  our  nets.  •         this  animal,  which  is  possessed  of  that  some- 

We  study  the  face  of  the  heavens,  and  foretcl  thin?,  which  you  honor  with  the  name  of 
the  channfcs  of  the  weather.  We  know  when  civilizition.  His  limbs,  you  say,  are  robust 
the  gust  is  about  to  rise  in  the  west,  and  when  and  strong  by  exercise  and  labor.  Does  civili- 
the  wind  promises  a  continued, rain.  We  can  zation  then  consist  in  robustness  of  body,  or 
tel'  when  to  prepare  for  snow  and  when  ice  brawniness  of  limbs  ?  He  mny  be  strong  in 
will  appear  on  the  viMtcrs.  his  youth,  but  continual  drudgery  destroys  the 

D.)  yon  not  suppose.  O  ye  inhabitants  of  harmony  of  his  shape,  and  the  dignity  of  his 
cities,  that  this  system  of  education,  that  these  motion.  Tiie  elasticity  of  his  limbs  is  destroy- 
pursuits  and  employments,  are  well  calculated  cd,  and  he  degenerates  into  a  mere  beas*.  of 
to  sharpen  tlie  ficulties  and  exercise  the  under-  burden.  His  visage  becomes  the  very  picture 
6t  Hiding?  Where  the  mind  is  accustomed  to  of  stupidity  and  malignity.  He  is  no  longer 
turn  itself  to  such  a  variety  of  vocations,  and  the  animal  to  whom  God 
accommodate  itself  to  such  a  multitude  of  cir-  Os— sublime  dedit,  ccelumqne  videre 

cumstances,  must  it  not  become  infinitely  snpe-  Jiissit,  et  ereetos  ad  sidera  tollere  vultos. 

rior  to  that  sluggish  existence,  whose  ideas  are  No  :  he  looks  downward  to  the  earth,  and  offers 
continually  occupied  with  the- millhorse  round  his  back  to  the  rider.  'His  feet  become  as  the 
of  domestic  drudgery  ?  feet  of  a  camel,  and  his  hands  rough  and  scaly 

Not  only  the  memory,  but  every  faculty  wc  as  the  cone  that  drops  from  the  top  of  the  pine 
possess,  is   improved   by  exercise  :«isow  then  tree. 

can  his  mind  be  enlightened,  who  is  the  mere  The  lower  ranks  of  those  who  reside  in  cities, 
creature  of  habit,  unaccustomed  to  thought  and  being  more  confined  in  their  operations,  are 
reflection  ?  Can  he,  whose  business  lends  him  sunk  still  lower,  in  the  scale  of  intelligence, 
from  the  bouse  to  the  barn,  from  the  barn  to  than  the  inhabitants  of  the  country.  Their 
tlie  stable,  from  the  stable  to  liie  orchard,  from  business  being  bounded  by  the  shop,  and  their 
the  orchard  to  the  cornfield,  and  from  the  corn-  excursions  limited  by  the  market ;  wliat  should 
field  to  the  house  again,  possess  an  elevated  un.  they  know  but  the  price  of  butter,  and  the  tini3 
derstinding?  Can  he, whose  most  distant excur-  of  hio-b  water  ?  Can  you  number  the  ideas  of 
Bion  extends  not  beyond  the  neighboring  mar-  a  muscle,  or  fathom  llie  intelligence  of  an  oys- 
kct  town,  have  a  mind  enriched  witli  a  niulti-  tcr  ?  If  you  can,  you  have  a  competent  know- 
tude  of  ideas  ?  Such  a  being  is  distressed  if  ledge  of  the  intellectual  powers  of  the  people 
he  wander  out    sio'ht  of  the  smoke  of  his  own   that  I  describe. 

chimney.  His  friends  nrc  miserable,  lest  he  Do  not  naturalists  rank  the  productions  of 
should  never  return  ;  and  he,  poor  soul  I  gapes  nature  agreeably  to  their  locomotive  powers? 
like  a  fishelev;itcd  above  the  surfaceof  the  water  The  animal  is  niore  excellent  than  the  vegcta- 
by  the  line  of  the  fisiierman.  He  gazes  with  ble  ;  why?  Because  it  is  capable  of  changing 
surprise  on  every  oliject  he  has  not  been  ac-  its  situation.  And  man  is  supposed  to  be  the 
customeJ  to  contemplate.  He  expects  some  most  noble  of  animals,  because  he  can  travel 
beast  of  prey  to  start  up  in  every  valley,  and  from  pole  to  pole,  and  subsist  under  every 
the  devil  out  of  every  thorn  bush.     He  looks  climnte. 

for  robbers  behind  every  he  Ige,  savage  Indians  Vegetables,  admitting  they  were  capable  of 
in  every  wood.  He  says  his  prayers  before  he  perceiving,  could  have  but  few  ideas,  being 
crosses  a  bridge,  and  confesses  his  sins  on  the  confined  by  hills  and  rocks  and  surrounded  by 
banks  of  every  torrent.     But   ni^ht  overtakes  wafis  and  inclosures. 

him*  How  deplorable  his  situation  !  Every  The  things  called  zoophytes  can  know  very 
withered  bush  is  a  ghost;  and  every  black  little  more  than  a  leaf  of  plantain,  or  a  sprig  of 
stump,  an  imp  of  darkness!  hoarhound  ;    and  those  animals  that  remain, 


12 


THE  SAVAGE. 


during  the  whole  period  of  their  existence,  on 
the  same  bank  or  hilioclr,  are  scarcely  superior, 
in  their  intellectual  powers,  to  h.  p..lypus  or 
zoophytic  funjrus.  What  knowlcdae  of  the 
world  was  posse.'sed  by  the  toad,  which  was 
•hut  up  for  five  thousand  years  in  the  solid 
body  of  a  rock?  Men  who  vcijct/ite  in  one 
8pot,  and  have  no  leisure  for  reading  or  reflec- 
tion, must  be  limited  in  their  ideas  and  narrow 
in  their  understandings. 

Such  are  the  blessings  of  civilization  ;  euch 
are  the  consequences  of  refinement 

But  we  will  be  told  of  the  polished  few, 
whose  minds  are  expanded  by  philosophy,  and 
whose  happiness  is  insured  by  a  multiplicity  of 
enjoyments.  Wc  shall  speak  of  their  happmcss 
hereafler ;  at  present  we  mean  merely  to  con- 
•ider  the  paucity  of  their  numbers. 

As  refinement  progresses,  the  number  of  ths 
refined  must  necessarily  be  reduced.  If  you 
become  elevated,  you  must  have  supporters. 
If  your  elevation  be  still  more  increased,  the 
quantity  of  supporting  materials  must  be  mul- 
tiplied in  a  like  proportion.  It  is*  absurd  to 
talk  of  all  becoming  equally  refined,  polished, 
and  civilized.  How  can  you  dine  in  state,  if 
there  be  none  to  wait  at  your  table  ?  And  if 
we  increase  your  refinement,  stale,  and  splen- 
dor, must  not  your  attendants  continue  to  be 
multiplied  proportionably  ?  Now,  if  wc  follow 
this  train  of  thought,  we  shall  be  able  to  prove, 
by  a  chain  of  incontestable  arguments,  that, 
when  civilization  is  carried  to  its  acme,  there 
will  be  one  man  polished  into  a  god,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  species  will  be  slaves,  parasites,  and 
brutes.  {to  be  continued.) 

Acquisition  of  Wealth. 

It  appears  to  us  nearly  as  hard  for  him  who 
devotes  his  time  to  the  acquisition  of  riches,  to 
be  perfectly  upright  and  honorable  through  tiie 
whole  course  of  a  long  life,  as  for  a  "  camel  to 
go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle."  The  man 
who  receives  a  fortune  by  inheritance  has  every 
opportunity  to  cultivate  and  cherish  his  virtuous 
inclinations  ;  but  the  man  who  sets  out  in  life 
without  wealth,  is  beset  by  temptations  on 
every  side  that  urge  him  on  to  the  acquisition 
of  money,  by  means  both  illicit  and  unwar- 
rantable. He  sees  that  property  procures 
pleasure,  attention,  and  respect.  Fie  wishes 
for  pleasure :  he  wishes  for  a  distinguished 
■ituation  among  his  species  :  and  in  order  to 
obtain  things  so  desirable,  he  immediately  srts 
about  the  business  of  accumulation.  If  he  be 
able  to  subdue  his  love  of  pleasure,  and  think 
proper  to  take  the  plain  beaten  path  of  industry, 
he  may  get  rich  ;  but  his  temper  and  disposi- 
tion will  he  changed.  He  acquires  his  wcJth 
with  difficulty  ;  and  we  always  love  the  pro- 
duct  'if  our  attention  and  labor.  He  is  now  a 
rich  man  ;  but  the  finer  feelings  and  nobler 
aentiments  of  his  mind  arc  absolutely  eradi- 
cated :  that  generous  disregard  of  self,  and  that 


enthusiasm  in  the  cause  of  virtue  have  disap- 
peared. 

A  fortune  is  not  to  be  made  at  once  by  industry; 
it  is  made  up  by  the  daily  accession  of  small 
sums.  Sm;ill  sums,  therefore,  become  an  ob- 
ject of  importance  to  the  industrious  man. 
He  values  them  highly.  And  the  m^n  who 
sets  a  high  value  on  small  sums  may  poss  bly 
adhere  to  tho  dead  letter  of  honesty;  but  lie 
has  lost  that  noUlitij  of  the  heart,  for  which 
nothing  can  be  a  sufficient  compensation.  A 
minute  attention  to  trities  has  n:irrowed  and 
cont.uninated  his  mind.  He  must  be  shutout 
from  the  congregation  of  those  who  are  clothed 
in  the  white  raiment  of  pure  unsullied  honor : 
he  is  unclean. 

Discoveries. 

"Wist  ye  not  that  such  a  man  as  I  can  certainly, 
poivwow?" 

Our  violent  desire  to  know  what  the  world 
liad  said  and  were  saying  about  our  Savage 
induced  us  to  have  recourse  to  means  for 
gratifying  our  curiosity  which  we  never  resort 
to  unless  on  extraordinary  occasions. 

We  once  studied  the  science  of  powwowing 
under  the  celebrated  Kaioka.  Kaioka  was  a 
great  man  :  a  priest,  a  prophet,  and  magician. 
He  could  predict  the  approach  of  comets,  and 
the  time  when  our  warriors  would  return  from 
their  predatory  excursions.  He  could  prevent 
the  rivers  froin  overflowing  their  banks,  and 
the  moles  from  destroying  the  corn.  He  could 
forelel  the  event  of  a  war,  and  interpret  the 
meaning  of  dreams.  He  could  surround 
the  moon  with  a  circle,  and  multiply  the 
number  of  suns.  He  could  charm  away 
the  most  malignant  spirit,  and  stop  the  ravages 
of  the  most  alarming  disease.  He  formed  a 
treaty  of  friendship  with  serpents,  and  cher- 
ished the  rattlesnake  in  his  bosom.  He  could 
bring  on  darkness  at  midday,  and  call  down 
rain  trom  heaven  by  his  powerful  incantations. 
He  acquired  an  absolute  ascend. mcy  over  the 
spirits  that  manage  the  clouds  and  those  that 
assist  the  operations  of  rivers.  The  genii  of 
the  caves  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  abyss  were 
subjected  to  his  power. 

We  took  a  few  lessons  from  this  wonderful 
man,  which  enables  us  on  extraordinary  occa- 
sions to  dip  a  little  into  the  invisible  world. 
We  can  "  start  a  ghost"  or  rouse  a  goblin, 
when  there  happens  to  be  any  necessity  for 
such  an  exertion ;  but  we  generally  are  con- 
tent with  having  recourse  to  dreams,  after 
having  made  the  necessary  preparations. 

By  this  last  method  we  made  some  highly 
interesting  discoveries  concerning  our  Savage, 
as  will  be  seen  in  the  sequel. 

We  fasted  and  prayed.  We  took  an  emetic, 
and  performed  the  necessary  ablutions  in  the 
Schuylkill  :  and  then,  having  burned  a  few 
leaves  of  tobacco  to  propitiate  the  spirits  of  the 
air,  we  lay  down  and  slept.  In  our  dream,  a 
terrific  form  made  its  appearance.  We  cannot 
undertake  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  the  public, 


THE  SAVAGE  13 

as  to  the  being  that  we  saw  in  our  dream  ;  for  Hill.      Would  you  select   some  entertaining 

of  that  we  are  ig^norant.     We  at  first  supposed  stories  from  the  last   mentioned  work,  for  tho 

it  to  he  the  devil  of  the  civilized  world,  as  he  edification  of  your  aunt  Jenny,  I  have  no  doubt 

certainly  wore  on  his  head  somcthinjr  that  had  but  she  would  procure,  for  your  paper,  a  hun- 

thc  semblance  of  horns:  hut,  upon  the  closest  dred  subscribers. 

inspection,  we  could  perceive  notliinjj  that  had  Could  you  hire  an  enterprising-  genius  to 
the  appearance  of  a  cloven  foot.  Upon  tho  skulk  about  the  city,  and  see  wiiat  married 
whole,  we  are  led  to  conclude  that  it  must  have  men  frequent  the  houses  of  pollution — what 
been  some  benignant  spirit ;  as  no  evil  one  heads  of  families  have  been  known  to  kiss 
would,  we  believe,  venture  to  approach  us  in  pretty  chambermaids — what  modish  ladies 
our  purified  state.  He  stalked  up  with  the  liave  been  surprised  in  dtlicate  situations — 
greatest  dignity.  His  conntennnre  bore  the  what  rosy  misses  ha/e  retired  to  the  country 
impression  of  profound  wisdom,  but  mixed  with  on  account  nf  iiidisposition — what  old  men 
something  that  had  the  appearance  of  contempt  have  young  wives — who  were  seen  abroad  at 
for  every  thing  earthly.  unseasonable  hours,  or  in  equivocal  places,  &c. 
We  demanded  what  the  literati  of  the  age  &c.  I  say,  if  you  procure  an  agent  to  collect 
thought  of  our  Savage.  anecdotes  of  this  description,  and  mix  them  up 
The  literati  of  the  age  I  repeated  he,  smiling;  with  sly  hints  and  double  entendres,  ornament- 
not  many  of  them  have  yet  had  the  pleasure  of  ed  with  a  sufficiency  of  A.s,  Z.s,  dashes,  star.s, 
becoming  acquainted  wilh  your  Savage;  and  iiaZics,  and  double  pica,  take  my  word  for  it, 
but  few  of  them  ever  will.  Can  they  whose^  tliere  is  no  paper  lu  the  United  States  will  have 
heads  are  above  the  clouds  oliscrve  the  motions  so  extensive  a-circulalion  as  yours, 
of  on  nnt  upon  a  hillock  ?  But  there  are  seve-  As  soon  as  the  welcome  carrier  throws  in  the 
ral  other  descriptions  of  readers  who  are  not  a  Savage,  thf  scandal-loving  dame,  with  watering 
little  out  of  humor  with  the  beginning  you  have  teeth,  will  hasten  to  draw  down  her  spectacles 
naade.  ^  from  her  withered  forche.-.d,  adjust  them  on 
I  will  give  you  some  account  of  them,  and  he-"  sharp-pointed  nose, and  devour  the  luscious 
the  reception  your  Savage  is  likely  to  meet  intelligence  with  more  avidity  than  Amelia 
with  from  them.  Wilhclmina  Carolina  did  tlie  contents  of  the 
Old  Jonathan  Longhead,  the  other  day,  took  last  novel.  And  all  the  little  tattling  teadriiik- 
up  your  duodecimo  and  read  a  few  minutes,  ing  misses  will  crowd  round  the  old  hidy's 
He  llieri  laid  it  down,  lighted  a  scgar,  and  chair  on  tiicir  knees,  and  stretch  their  pretty 
leaned  back  upon  his  chair  immersed  in  deep  necks,  open  their  love-inspiring  eyes  and  kiss- 
thought.  After  remaining  in  this  attitude  for  courting  mouths,  to  catch — some,  a  part  of  a 
five  minutes,  he  drew  the  scgar  fri>m  his  mouth,  line,  and  others,  a  broken  end  of  a  sentence : — 
and  blowing  forth  the  smoke  witli  the  greatest  while  the  old  gentlemnn  hangs  over  their 
deliberation,  he  uttered  the  f(>llou'ing  oracle,  shoulders  grinning  a  smile  of  complacency." 
"Atheistical  and  deistical."  Should  they  raise  What,  can  a  savage  stoop  to  such  baseness  ? 
the  cry  of  7«ac/ c^oo- against  you,  you  had  better  Shall  a  lie^dman  and  warrior  of  tb.c  Musco- 
be  a  dog  in  reality.  gulgee  confederacy  construct  and  keep  in  re- 
Billy  Bluster  and  a  .'ew  of  his  associates  pair  a  public  sewer  to  convey  into  the  world 
were  miarhlily  taken  with  the  title  of  your  pa-  all  the  abomination,  corruption,  and  filth,  of  a 
per.  "The  Savage  I  Diunn  me,  Tom  1  this  populous  city?  Shall  he  become  common 
will  be  a  hell  of  a  thundering  paper,  hey  ?  pimp  to  all  the  base  propensities  of  human  na- 
Then  we  shall  have  for  a  frontispiece  a  bloody  ture?  W4ien  lie  shall  act  thus, 
savage  with  a  ferocious  countenance,  brandish-  "  Be  ready  Gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolt.?. 
ing   bis  tomahawk  and  scalping  knife — ah!  a  Dash  him  to  pieces!" 

devil  of  a  fine  thing  I     Tlien,  it  will  be  filled  

with    drinkmg  songs   and    hellish  fine  stories.  We  are  sorry  that  the  in 'ancy  of  our  Savage 

We'll  laugh  like  damnation,  hey  O  1"  has  been  ofFnnsivc  to  iSjlomon  Simple.     Solo- 

"  Do  you  not  suppose,  Piomingo,  that  these  mon  should  recollect  that  everything  must  have 

brave  boys  were  sadly  disappointed  by  the  ap-  a  beginning.     If  we  speak  of  a  child,  we  must 

pearance  of  your  sweetly    moving   peaceable  not  put  in  his  mouth  the  vvords  of  learning  or 

Savage?      Were   ycu   capable    of    producing  wisdom:  such  words,  tor  example,  as  Solomon 

pieces  of  the  most  finished  composition,  do  you  makes  use  of  when   he   talks  of  the  military 

suppose  that  they  would   be  relished  by  these  abilities  of  the  archduke  Charles,  and  tiie  con- 

children   of  Comus  ?     Do    you    suppose    that  sequences  of  the  embargo  and  non-importation 

your  delicate  irony  or  classic, il  allusions   can  act.     If  we  speak  to  a  child,  we  must  not  pour 

excite  a  roar  of  laughter  over  the  bowl,  or  call  out  those  sesquipedalia  which  Solo.mon  is  wont 

forth  the  plaudits  of  the  groi/ncZ/ings  ?     Sooner  to  utter  when  he  delivers  his  sentiments  on  the 

will  you  charm  the  deaf  adder  :  sooner  will  the  law  of  nations  concerning  neutrals  and  bellige- 

beasts  of  the  forest  dance   to    your   mu-^ic,  or  rents.     There  is  an  old  book,  which  Solomon 

cities  ascend  to  the  sound  of  your  lyre  1    No,  ought  to  have  some  knowledge  of,  which  says, 

no,  Piomingo,  if  you  be  disposed  to  please  these  that  when  one  is  a  child  one  must  "  speak  as  a 

jovial  souls,  you   must  have    recourse   to  Joe  child,   understand  as  a  child,  and   think  as  a 

Miller's  Jest-book  and  the  adventures  of  Fanny  child."     We  hope  that  our  Savage,  when  arriv- 


14 


THE  SAVAGE. 


cd  at  years  of  maturity,  will  "put  uwny  cliild. 
ish  tilings  :"  and  w  e  wisli  that  Soloruon  would 
folJuw  l:is  cxaiiiple. 

Esquire. 

Most  of.thc  Indians  who  live  near  the  fron- 
tiers of  llie  United  SUites  have  become  debased 
nnd  corruplcd  l)y  tl)cir  intcrcnuisu  wiih  llie 
descoodaiUs  of  Europeans,  'i'hcy  arc  C(;nlami 
natud  Willi  tlic  vices  and  infected  with  the  di- 
seases of  civilized  nutions.  They  have  forjrot- 
ten  the  heroic  exploits  of  tlieir  warlike  anccs- 
tor.-i.  'I'hey  join  no  more  in  the  war  dance,  nor 
raise  the  soii{r  of  victory  and  triumph.  Tiiey 
have  li:st  all  national  pride  and  di<rnity  of 
character;  and  are  to  be  seen,  in  a  t-tale  of 
beastly  intoxication,  wallowing  in  the  streets 
oi'your  frontier  villai^res. 

Tliesc  degraded  wretches,  when  tliey  come 
anionfr  you,  are  fond  of  adorninof  themselvcB 
witli  tiie  cocked  hat,  or  cast-ofF  coat,  of  some 
military  officer.  You  lau'jh  at  their  childish 
folly;  and  you  are  rijrht  in  so  doing:  for  thev 
deserve  both  ridicule  and  contempt. 

Hut  what  must  be  said  of  the  enliahtened 
citizens  of  an  illustrious  republic,  who  are 
proud  to  decorate  themselves  with  tlie  shreds 
and  patches  torn  from  the  many-colored 
motheatcn  coat  of  feudal  ai  istocr,  cy"?  Thry 
do  not  attempt  to  manufacture  a  garment  for 
themselves,  Init  they  search  the  ditches  nnd 
alleys  and  dunghills  of  corruption,  for  rags  and 
tatters,  wherewith  they  ornament  themselves, 
and  then  strut  about  with  the  most  disgusting 
pomposity.  These  people  were  once  slaves, 
but  became  unruly,  and,  by  a  suceessfnl  exer- 
tion of  their  powers,  emancipated  themselves: 
but  it  appears  that  they  were  unfit  for  freedom, 
as  they  still  continue  to  be  proud  of  the  livery 
which  they  wore  when  in  a  stale  of  servitude. 
They  prate  much  about  the  digy.ity  nnd  per- 
fectibility  of  man  ;  i>ut,  an  attentive  observer 
may  still  perceive  that  they  hanker  after  the 
golden  trappings  of  servitude. 

If  they  must  have  titles  of  dignity,  why  do 
they  not  select  the  most  honorable?  They 
have  as  good  a  right  to  bo  dukes,  marquises, 
and  calls,  us  to  be  esquires.  •'  His  Grace,  the 
Duke  r)f  Gooseiand"  would  sound  much  belter 
than  "the  honorable  Jolm  Dolt  esquire."  Whv 
should  they  address  one  of  their  governors 
with  the  contemptible  appellation  of  "  Excel- 
lency," when  there  are  sueh  fine  highsounding 
Words  in  the  language  as  "  Majesty,"  "  Percnu 
ty  "  Sublimity  ?"  VViiy  should  they  talk  of 
his  "  honor  the  judge,"  when  they  might 
make  use  of  the  dignified  appcllati.m  of"  Lord 
Chief  Justice  of  the  .Supreme  Court  ?"  Why 
should  members  of  the  legislatures  be  described 
only  as  'honorable,'  when  there  could  be  added 
many  more  adjectives  equally  expressive  cf 
their  characters  :  such  as  •'  Sapient,  Intelligent, 
Profound  ;"  and  thev  might  be  addressed  with 
great  propiiety  as  "High  and  .Mighty  Lords?" 
VN  hy  should  justices  of  the   peace,  aldermen, 


itc.  be  only  honored  with  the  title  of  "worship, 
ful,"  when  we  could  pronounce  with  such 
sweetness  and  dignity,  "  His  Serene  Highness, 
Alderninn  Clodhopper;"  and  "H'S  Adorable 
Gieatnes.s,  Justi  c  Numskull?"  Why  should 
the  clergy  only  be  known  by  the  appellati<n 
"  reverend,"  when  there  are  such  words  in  use 
Bs  "The  Most  Holy  Father  in  God,  Christoj;hcr 
Oveigood  ?" 

When  Constantinc,  the  great,  first  cliristianized 
the  l?oman  empire,  he  inve  ited  a  long  siring 
of  delectable  titles.  An  account  of  them  may 
be  seen  in  Gibbon's  Decline  and  Fall  of  the 
Roman  Em[)irc.  Wo  would  advise  'he  citizens 
of  the  United  Stales  (as  they  have  full  light  to 
choose  what  litlu-s  they  please  in  this  land  of 
liberty)  to  adopt  the  ingenious  scale  of  titles 
Iii'l  down  by  CJonstanliiie ;  or  if  these  f-htuld 
not  appear  sufficiently  dignified,  they  may 
refer  to  tlic  kingdoms  of  the  east,  i.nd  select 
some  of  the  most  sonorous,  such  as.  Holy  Son 
of  Heaven,  Disposer  of  Kingdoms,  Brother  of 
the  Sun  and  Moon,  lic. 

If  you  must  adorn  yourselves  with  borrowed 
f.>athers,  your  good  taste  might  lead  you  to 
choose  those  of  the  pcaeock,  the  osirieh,  and 
the  bird  of  purariisc,  in  preference  to  those  of 
the  owl,  the  buzzard,  and  the  crane.  The 
English  language  is  copious.  Select  the  most 
harmonious  and  splendid  designations;  but  do 
it  boldly.  Prepare  provisions  for  yourselves. 
Why  should  you  lick  up  the  crumbs  that  fall 
from  the  table  of  your  i'orrner  master! 

What  riiliculous  consequence  a  plain  re- 
publican immediately  assumes  upon  finding 
iiimself  addressed  by  the  title  of  esquire  I  He 
soon  conceives  that  lie  feels  something  like 
noble  blood  coursing  U|>  and  down  through  his 
veins  !  He  thinks  it  very  possible  tiiat  he  may 
have  sprung  fiom  some  younger  son  oi"  a 
younnfcr  brother  of  some  noble  house.  Some 
of  his  ancestors  may  have  lived  in  soincdigni- 
fied  family,  as  butleis,  or  housekeepers,  or  scime 
other  way.  Sometimes  he  even  fl.;ttcrs  himself 
that  certain  illegitimate  sprinklings  ot  blood 
royal  may  have  ennobled  the  plebeian  cuvr<  nt 
that  runs  in  his  veins.  He  begins  to  study 
the  nature  of  his  name,  decipher  its  etymology, 
and  el.:im  kindred  with  exery  Jamily  who  may 
have  borne  the  same  appellation. 

Would  it  not  be  better  for  some  of  these 
ambitious  mortals  to  endeavor  to  convert  their 
own  name  into  a  title  of  dignity  than  to  be 
ambitious  of  usurping  a  barbarous  dislinctirn, 
to  which  th(!y  haveno  claim.  Ceasar  was  the 
name  of  a  man,  but  became  in  time  a  title  of 
•  he  most  dignified  nature.  Who  knows  but 
some  cnterp.'ising  genius  may  spring  up  in  the 
western  world  and  convert  his  name  into  a 
title  that  will  be  remembered  forever? 

The  Indians  give  names  to  their  children  in 
infaney ;  but  that  Indian  would  sink  into  ab- 
solute contempt,  who  should  not  acquire,  to 
himself,  a  nrw  name,  hy  his  success  in  hunting 
or  his  exploits  in  war.  Now,  would  the  polish- 
ed citizens  of  the  L'nited  States  condescend  to 


THE  SAVAGE.  15 

Varn  sometMnaruseful  from  the  savr.ge  inhabi-  splendid  apartments?  Behold  the  flocks  and 
lants  of  the  wilderness,  we  tliink  they  nii^ht  herds  and  fields  of  com  !  can  all  these  be 
adopt  this  custom  with  the  greatest  propriety,  necessary  for  the  sustenance  of  one?  But  if 
Let  every  man  be  reckoned  iilteiiy  conlempti-  all  this  be  the  product  ofliis  own  labor,  he  has 
ble  who  shall  not  acquire  a  new  name  before  full  liberty  to  enjoy  it.  Polydore  must  be  a 
he  be  thirty  years  of  ag^e.  giant.     Did  he  pile  up  these  massy  stones,  and 

If  he  have  performed  any  remarkable  action,  erect  these  ponderous  buildings  ?  Did  he  sub. 
let  his  name  be  taken  from  tliat.  If  he  have  due  the  lordly  forest,  and  cover  the  fields  with 
not  at  all  distinguished  himself  by  any  single  waving  grain  ?  No:  Polydore  has  done  no- 
exploit,  it  is  probible  that  there  will  be  discov-  thing.  He  owes  all  this  to  the  labor  of  others, 
erablc  some  prominent  traits  in  his  character,  But  how  then,  we  inquired  with  amazement, 
from  which  he  may  be  designated.  The  new  did  Polydore  gain  this  ascendency  over  others? 
appellation  would  become  a  title  of  honor  to  How  did  he  compel  his  fellows  lo  cultivate  his 
the  virtuous,  and  a  mark  of  opprobrium  and  fields,  or  labor  in  his  ditches?  Polydore  did 
diso-race  to  the  vicious.  not    compel    them  :  they  were   compelled    by 

Exempli  gratia  :  If  a  man  d  scovcrcd  a  great  their  necessities.  A  fortunate  concurrence  of 
inclination  to  indulge  in  the  pleasures  of  the  circumstances,  and  the  laws  of  the  country, 
table,  and  this  propensity  became  the  leading  have  made  Polydore  rich ;  but  these  men  are 
trait  in  his  character,  we  see  no  reason  why  poor.  A  small  portion  of  tlje  product  of  their 
he  should  not  be  denominated  "  The  Glutton."  labor  goes  to  the  support  of  themselves  and 
Such  should  be  the  name  of  the  man  who  may  their  families;  but  the  far  greater  part  is  ap. 
be  said  "to  live  that  he  may  eat."  But  should  plied  to  the  aggrandizement  of  Polydore'a 
the  glutton  discover  an  extensive  acquaintance  establishment.  And  as  this  aggrandizement 
will)  the  art  of  preparing  viands,  we  think  he  increases,  in  like  manner  increases  his  asccn- 
onght  to   be   honored  with  the   appellation  of  dency  ove*  others. 

"Cook."  This  title  should  be  given  to  those  We  saw  through  the  whole  in  a  moment, 
gentlemen  who  distinguish  themselves  by  It  is  therefore  absolutely  necessary  that  every 
learned  disquisitions  on  the  nature  of  custard,  rich  man  should  be  surrounded  by  others  more 
or  can  enumerate  the  ingredients  that  enter  indigent  than  himself.  If  it  were  otherwise, 
into  the  composition  of  a  pudding.  Adepts  in  in  what  ni-nner  would  he  induce  them  to  sup. 
the  science  of  preparing  turtle  soup,  and  those  ply  his  factitious  wants,  or  gratify  his  luxuri. 
whose  intelligence  enp.hles  them  to  descant  oua  inclinations  ?  Cottages,  then,  must  ncces- 
learnedly  on  the  manner  of  giving  to  oysters  s.'rily  be  found  in  the  vicinity  of  palaces  ;  and 
the  most  exquisite  flavor,  should  likewise  be  lordly  cities  must  be  surrounded  by  suburbs  of 
distinguished  by  the  srane  designation.  wretchedness  !     Sordidncss  is  the  ofl^spring  of 

If  such  a  plan  as  this  were  adopted,  instead  splendor;  and  luxury  is  the  parent  of  wa^nt, 
of  the  unmeaning  names  now  in  use,  we  should  Civilization  consists  in  the  refinement  of  a /eio, 
hear  of  "Drunljard,"  "Swindler,"  "Romanc-r,"  and  the  barbarism  and  baseness  of  ?«ony. 
&,c.  There  might  likewise  be  established,  As  the  grandeur  of  any  establishment  is 
under  the  snpcritifendencc  of  government,  a  augmented,  servile  and  base  offices  are  multi- 
col'ege  of  hci  aids  for  the  purpose  of  giving  ap-  plied.  Poverty  and  baseness  must  be  united 
propriate  ensigns  armorial  to  everyone,  on  the  in  the  same  person  in  order  to  qualify  him  for 
completion  of  his  thirtieth  year  ;  but,  ne  quid  such  situations.  Who  fill  servile  and  low  cm. 
mimis.  ployments  in  your  Atlantic  cities?     There  arc 

■  not  American  minds  to  be  found  sufficiently 

THE    SAVAGE NO.  III.  degraded  for  these  contemptible  occupations. 

You  find  it  necessary  to  have  recourse  to  the 
Effects  of  Civilization.  more  highly  polished  nations  of  Europe  for 

Shall  your  cooks  and  your  waiters,  your  suitable  drudges  to  sweep  your  streets  and  re- 
carters  and  your  ditchers,  be  accounted  equally  move  nuisances,  to  stand  behind  your  carriages 
civilized  with  yourselves  ?  Shall  they  who  and  perform  degrading  duties  about  your  per. 
watch  the  look,  and  tremble  at  the  frown,  of  a    sons. 

superior,  be  allowed  to  possess  delicacy  of  sen-  Civilized  Europeans,  when  they  visit  your 
timent  and  dignity  of  character?  No:  they  cou"try,  complain  loudly  of  your  barbarism, 
are  deprived  of  all  personal  consequence  in  so-  You  are  little  belter,  in  their  estimation,  than 
ciety.  Their  own  interest  is  annihilated,  the  savages  of  the  wilderness.  They  cannot 
They  are  merely  a  necessary  part  of  the  luxuri-  meet  with  that  obsequiousness  and  servility 
ous  establishment  of  their  principal.  which  is  necessary  to  their  happiness.     They 

We  passed  by  the  residence  of  Polydore.  complain,  most  dolcfiilly,  of  the  impertinence 
We  saw  his  gorgeous  palace  and  widely  ex-  of  their  servants,  and,  indt-ed,  of  the  difliiculty 
tended  fields.  We  examined  his  gardens,  his  of  procuring  any  one  sufficiently  qualified  for 
park,  his  orchards ;  and  were  struck  with  as-  the  situation  of  a  menial.  You  frequently 
tonishment.  at  the  splendor  of  his  establish-  blush  for  the  rudeness  and  barbarity  of  your 
ment.  And  is  this  all,  we  inquired,  designed  countrymen,  when  you  listen  to  these  com. 
for  the  accommodation  of  one  man?  Can  one  plaints  of  your  polished  visitants;  but  do  not 
creature,  not  six  feet  high,  occupy   all   these  despair.     The  seeds  are  sown :  and  the  growth 


16 


THE  SAVAGE. 


will  be  rapid.  The  causes  have  begun  <o 
operate,  and  the  effects  to  be  seen  Tliere  will 
soon  bi;  a  sufTicicimy  of  indigence  and  poverty 
of  spirit  to  make  "crvants  obsequious,  and 
multiply  the  niunbtr  of  domestics.  Let  splen- 
dor, refinement,  and  luxury,  Iriumph;  and  we 
promise  that  sordidness,  baseness,  and  misery, 
will  walk  in  their  train. 

I\Ian  was  designed  by  mature  to  cultivate 
the  fields,  or  roam  in  the  woods.  He  has  suffi- 
cient strength  to  do  every  thing  for  himself 
that  is  necessary  to  be  done.  He  can  erect  a 
hut  of  poles  &nd  cover  it  with  bark  or  skins 
without  the  ass!st:incc  of  another.  A  small 
portion  of  his  time  jirocures  clothing  and  food  ; 
and  the  remainder  is  devoted  to  amusement 
and  rest.  The  moment  you  leave  tliis  point, 
your  destination  is  'certain,  though  your  pro- 
gress may  be  slaw.  {To  he  continved.) 

Vanity. 

Some  ingenious  author  has  run  a  parallel 
between  pride  and  vanily.  The  proud  man, 
says  he,  raposes,  with  dignified  confidence,  on 
the  superiority  of  his  own  iwind  ;  but  the  vain 
man  depends  on  tiie  f5uctu;iting  opinions  of  the 
world.  The  vain  man  values  himself  for  his 
personal  quilifications,  as  long  as  they  con- 
tinue fashionable;  but  the  moment  they  cease 
to  be  admired  t>y  otiiers,  they  sink  also  in  his 
own  estimation. 

Little  Vapid  is  one  of  the  vainest  men  in  ex- 
istence :  and  what  can  give  importance  to  liftle 
Vapid  ?  His  features  are  diminutive,  and  his 
person  contemptible. 

Vapid  values  himself  on  the  cleanness  and 
neatness  of  his  dress.  A  speck  of  dirt  on  his 
white  pantaloons  would  throw  him  into  an 
agony  of  unutterable  distress.  His  shoes  must 
shine  with  glossy  blacking,  and  his  coat  be 
brushed  with  the  utmost  care,  before  he  will 
venture  out  bf  the  house.  He  spends  an  hour 
in  adjusting  his  cravat,  and  two  hours  in  giving 
the  hair  on  his  silly,  insignificant  head  the 
propRf  direction.  One  half  of  his  time  is  spent 
in  scrubbing  his  teeth  and  arching  his  eye- 
brows. And  when  he  grasps  his  little  cane, 
and  hops  into  the  street,  with  every  plait  in 
proper  order,  and  the  indi-pensable  grimace  on 
his  countenance,  one  would  suppose  that  be 
had  broken  loose  from  imprisonment  in  a 
bandbox. 

Fan  him  gently  ye  zephyrs  I  Ye  northern 
blasL«,  discompose  not  the  folds  of  his  gar- 
Kientl  Ye  sylphs,  watch  over  his  white  pan- 
taloons, when  he  skips  over  the  gutters  !  But 
may  his  guardian  angel  protect  him,  should  he 
encounter  a  dray ! 

Vapid  is  nntprovd:  he  sets  no  value  on  the 
intrinsic  excellence  of  any  quality  he  possesses: 
his  happiness  depends  on  the  breath  of  mortals 
as  contemptible  as  himself. 

The  Hill  of  Life. 
Armine   became   acquainted  with  his    ov;n 
existence    in    the    valley   of  Childhood.     His 


couch  was  composed  of  roses,  and  canopied 
over  by  the  boughs  of  the  oranj^e  and  the  myr- 
tle. Bubbling-  springs  were  seen  among  the 
flowers,  and  tlie  melody  of  birds  was  heard 
amid  the  branches.  The  Hill  of  Life  appeared 
before  him,  and  he  set  his  face  toward  the 
summit  of  the  mountain.  The  ascent  is  known 
by  the  name  of  Youth  :  it  was  easy  and  de- 
lightful. A  female  form  of  the  most  angelic 
appearance  was  his  constant  companion  :  her 
name  was  Hope.  Siie  strewed  his  path  with 
flowers :  and  her  presence  shed  abroad  tho 
sunshine  of  cheerfulness  and  joy.  She  led  hini 
forward  by  the  hand  :  and  distant  objects,  when 
pointed  out  by  her  finger,  assumed  a  supcr- 
■iiatural  and  celestial  brilliancy.  When  he  hiy 
dewn  to  reposc,  poppies  were  strewed  on  his 
pjllow ;  and  when  he  awoke,  his  heavenly 
companion  entranced  his  eyes  with  her  magi- 
cal  mirror  of  ravishing  delights.  Sometimes 
he  turned  aside  into  the  gardens  of  pleasure, 
and  bathed  in  the  rivers  of  sensual  delight ; 
but  when  he  lieard  at  a  distance  the  loud  but 
mellow  voice  of  the  trumpet  of  Fame,  which 
sounded  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  he  broke 
loose  from  the  allurements  of  pleasure,  deter- 
mined to  acquire  more  substantial  bliss,  by 
heroic  exertions. 

When  he  had  gained  the  last  stages  of  the 
ascent,  he  was  met  by  a  restless  being,  of  a. 
dark  and  forbidding  countenance :  her  name 
was  Care.  She  pressed  him  into  her  company, 
and  attempted  to  engross  his  attention.  But 
her  familiar  approaches  were  forbid  en  by 
Hope  :  and  she  contented  herself  with  flitting 
about  in  his  view  at  a  distance. 

The  summit  of  the  mountain  is  an  elevated 
plain,  known  by  the  name  of  Manhood.  It 
commands  an  extensive  prospect  on  every  side  ; 
but  these  views  are  not  all  equally  delightful. 
When  you  stand  on  the  mountain  and  cast 
your  eyes  backward  to  the  vallev  of  Childhood, 
the  mind  is  overpowered  by  conflicting  emo- 
tions. You  review  with  delight  the  wander- 
ings of  infancy  in  the  valley  of  roses  ;  but  this 
enjoyment  is  mixed  with  an  inexpressible  sen- 
timent of  sorrow  and  regret:  the  thought  of 
joys  never  to  be  repeated,  and  of  pleasure! 
foiever  gone ! 

The  ascent  of  Youth  is  viewed  still  with  less 
complacency.  The  aberrations,  in  this  part  of 
the  journey,  give  to  the  prospect  a  bitterness 
and  gloom  that  cloud  the  enjoyment.  "  Sweet 
humble  vale  !"  said  Armine,  looking  through 
the  long  vista  of  Youth,  to  the  commencement 
of  his  journey,  "  Sweet  humble  vale  !  your  de- 
lights are  forever  vanished  I  your  pleasures  can 
never  return!" 

Having  thus  said,  he  turned  himself  around 
to  take  a  view  of  the  elevated  plain  on  which 
he  stood.  The  face  of  the  country  was  various : 
some  parts  were  covered  with  thistles  and 
thorns ;  and  others  were  crowned  with  proud 
forests  of  oak,  and  groves  of  towering  poplars. 
In  some  parts  were  to  be  seen  "  cloud-capt 
towers  and  gorgeous  palaces  ;"  and  in  others, 


THE  SAVAGE. 


17 


the  sordid  and  miserable  "  huts  of  cheerless 
poverty."  Some  of  the  inhabitants  build  houses 
of  marble,  as  though  their  residence  in  the 
place  were  never  to  have  an  end  ;  while  multi- 
tudes are  crowded  in  cottages  of  clay.  Dark 
clouds  hang  continually  over  the  mountain  : 
some  contemplate  their  appearance  with  calm-' 
ness,  but  others  view  them  with  horror  and 
dismay. 

A  philosopher,  who  sat, .  with  the  utmost 
composure,  on  the  point  of  a  rock,  and  viewed 
the  shifting  of  the  clouds  through  a  perspec- 
tive, beckoned  Armine  to  approach.  He 
obeyed.  "  I  perceive,"  said  the  philosopher, 
"  by  your  countenance,  tliat  you  have  lately 
gained  the  summit  of  the  mountain."  Armine 
assented.  ''  Well,"  continued  the  sage,  "  you 
will  remain  here  awhile  :  I  have,  for  my  part, 
been  many  years  a  resident  on  this  plain  ;  and 
miist  speedily  descend  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hill.  I  observed  you,  just  now,  looking  back 
on  the  valley  of  Childhood  :  have  you  any  ob- 
jection to  take  a  view  of  the  opposite  descent  ?" 
Armine  was  silent.  The  philosopher  took  him 
by  the  hand  and  led  him  to  the  brow  of  the 
hill.  "The  declivity,"  said  he,  "as  you  may 
perceive,  is  much  greater  on  this  side  than  on 
the  other:  it  is  called  the  Decline  of  Life.  It 
has  but  a  dreary  appearance.  The  descent  is 
rapid  into  the  valley  of  Old  Age  :  and  in  that 
valley,  rolls  the  black,  sluggish,  and  bottomless 
River  of  Death."  Having  thus  spoken,  he 
sighed,  and  immediately  began  to  descend. 
Armine  called  after  him  with  a  loud  voice, 
saying,  "  Is  the  river  without  a  shore  ?  Are 
there  no  green  fields  on  the  other  side,  where 
a  weary  traveller  may  find  lasting  repose  ?" 
The  philosopher  turned  round,  and  looked  upon 
Armine.  There  was  an  expression  of  sadness 
upon  his  countenance.  "  No  traveller  has  re- 
turned," said  he,  "  to  give  us  any  intelligence. 
Thsre  is,  without  doubt,  a  country  on  the 
other  side  of  the  water  :  I  have  had  a  glimpse 
of  it  myself;  but  those  who  are  swallowed  up 
by  the  River  of  Death,  arc,  in  all  probability, 
carried  by  the  rapidity  of  the  current  into  the 
Dead  Sea  of  eternal  oblivion."  Having  thus 
said,  he  pursued  his  way  down  the  mountain. 
Armine  observed  him,  for  some  time,  in  his 
descent ;  and  took  notice  that,  having  proceed- 
ed a  little  way,  he  found  a  green  place  on  the 
side  of  the  hill,where  there  was  a  spring  of  wa- 
ter. Having  refreshed  himself,  he  sat  down  to 
rest;  and  immediately  began  to  examine  the  na 
tureofthegrass,whichwas  the  production  of  so 
sterile  a  soil.  He  continued  this  employment 
for  some  time,  and  then  took  out  his  pocket 
perspective,  and  observed  the  movement  of  the 
clouds,  with  as  much  composure  as  he  had 
formerly  done  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain. 
"  Wonderful  elasticity  of  the  human  mind  !" 
exclaimed  Armine,  as  he  turned  round  from 
the  contemplation  of  the  Decline  of  Life, 
"  Wonderful  elasticity  of  the  human  mind, 
which  causes  it  to  yield  to  the  pressure  of  cir- 
cumstances I — which  enables  it  to  support 
C 


with  tranquility  the  greatest  possible  misfor- 
tunes 1" 

Care  now  became  the  constant  companion  of 
Armine,  though  he  was  still  accompanied  by 
Hope.  Hope  had  lost  a  great  part  of  her  magi- 
cal power,  but  still  was  able  to  soften  the  in- 
fluence of  Care,  and  calm  the  occasional  per- 
turbations  of  his  mind.  He  adopted  various 
schemes  for  passing  the  time  of  his  continu- 
ance on  the  mount;  but  the  issue  of  every  one 
was  the  same — disappointment.  Sometimes 
he  joined  the  votaries  of  pleasure  ;  and  some- 
times, the  lovers  of  wisdom.  Pleasures  ended 
in  smoke  ;  and  knowledge  was  the  parent  of 
despair.  Sometimes  he  employed  himself  ia 
gathering  together  the  glittering  stones  that 
may  be  found  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain: 
but  the  exertion,  necessary  in  this  contempti- 
ble  pursuit,  was  painful  in  the  extreme.  Ha 
then  endeavored  to  derive  amusement  from 
dispersing  abroad  what  he  had  collected  togeth- 
er :  and  the  issue  of  the  whole  was  '  vanity 
and  vexation  of  spirit.' 

The  Temple  of  Fame  stood  on  a  rugged 
promontory  of  the  mountain,  which  was  sus- 
pended over  the  black  and  putrid  waters  of 
Infamy.  -  The  building  was  magnificent  be- 
yond description  ;  its  summit  was  hid  in  the 
clouds.  The  voice  of  the  goddess  was  heard 
from  the  temple,  inviting  the  approaches  of  all; 
but  the  attempt  to  obey  the  invitation  was  at- 
tended with  danger.  Every  one  was  desirous 
to  enter,  in  order  to  leave  some  memorial  of 
having  performed  the  journey  of  life  ;  but  few, 
very  few,  were  found  able  to  surmount  the  ob- 
stacles which  impeded  the  entrance.  The 
daring  adventurer,  whose  heart  beat  high  with 
the  love  of  gipry,  pressed  forward  through 
dangers  of  every  description.  Frightful  rocka 
and  yawning  caverns,  giants  of  tremendous 
dimensions,  and  spectres  of  terrific  forms,  op- 
posed his  progress.  Envy,  Malice,  Hatred, 
Anger,  Slander,  Revenge,  and  a  thousand 
others,  armed  with  "  firebrands,  arrows,  and 
death,"  stood  in  array  against  him.  The  hero 
who  broke  through  their  ranks  and  entered 
the  temple  covered  with  blood  was  received 
with  shouts  of  joy  and  the  sound  of  th» 
trumpet. 

Armine  essayed  to  enter  :  but  Poverty,  a 
gaunt  and  haggard  monster,  effectually  baffled 
every  attempt,  and  drove  him  away  from  the 
precincts  of  the  building.  Here  he  was  seized 
by  Disease,  who  hurried  him  away  to  the  de- 
scent of  the  mountain. 

As  he  passed  down  the  Decline  of  Life, 
every  thing  wore  a  gloom  of  despondence. 
Dark  clouds  hung  over  his  head  ;  and  nothing 
was  heard  but  the  screaming  of  the  raven  from 
the  "  lightning-blasted  oak,"  and  the  hooting 
of  the  owl  from  the  mouldering  turret.  He 
entered  the  valley  of  Old  Age.  The  air  be- 
came dark.  The  funereal  cypress  overshadow- 
his  path. 

Weary  and  dejected,  he  tottered  along,  until, 
ere  he  was  aware,  he  stood  on  the  banks  of  th« 


18 


THE  SAVAGE. 


River.  A  thick  fog,  an  everlasting  cloud, 
lested  on  the  face  of  the  waters.  Nothing 
was  to  be  seen.  Nothing  was  to  be  heard.  It 
was  the  reign  of  Darkness,  Silence,  Inanity, 
Death.  While  he  yet  lingered,  he  received  a 
last  visit  from  the  companion  of  his  youth. 
Hope  appeared,  arrayed  in  a.  robe  of  resplen- 
dent whiteness.  She  directed  her  hand  toward 
the  opposite  side  of  the  River.  The  clouds 
broke  away  for  a  moment.  He  had,  or  fancied 
he  had,  a  glimpse  of  a  brighter  region.  Time 
hurried  him  into  the  stream';  and  he  was 
heard  of  no  more. 

Remonstrance  of  the  letter  H. 

The  letter  h  begs  leave  to  represent  to 
Piomingo  that  he  labors  under  many  heavy 
and  intolerable  grievances.  He  has  suffered 
injustice  both  from  the  ancients  and  moderns, 
the  learned  and  unlearned. 

Grammarians  have  long  contended  that  he 
is  no  letter ;  that  he  is  merely  a  '-hard  breath- 
ing before  a  word  or  syllable."  They  never 
explam  themselves  fully  on  this  subject;  and 
it  is  hard  to  find  out  what  they  mean  by  the 
assertion.  One  of  their  leaders  has,  indeed, 
observed  that  h  requires  no  conformation  of 
the  organs  of  speech  ;  and  therefore  cannot  be 
a  letter.  This  is  involving  the  matter  in 
"clouds  and  thick  darkness."  What  are  the 
organs  of  speech?  Is  the  windpipe  included 
in  the  number?  But,  without  entering  into 
any  niceties  on  the  subject,  it  is  simply  de- 
manded.  Can  they  give  this  "  hard  breathing 
before  a  word  or  syllable,"  without  making 
anv  use  of  the  organs  of  speech  ?  When  tlie 
orcrans  of  speech  are  at  rest,  tlie  mouth  must 
be  necessarily  closed.  Now,  let  them  pro- 
nounce any  word,  in  which  h  is  sounded, 
without  opening  the  mouth  until  Ihey  have 
made  this  "hard  breathing;"  and  the  point 
will  be  conceded. 

But  h  is  not  disposed  to  contend  for  a  name. 
Let  him  be  possessed  of  the  substance,  and  he 
will  never  declare  war  for  the  shadow.  Let 
}iim  enjoy  every  right,  power,  and  emolument, 
belonging  to  a  letter  ;  and  they  are  welcome 
to  call  him  a  "  hard  breathing"  as  long  as  they 
please. 

At  present,  he  humbly  solicits  that  he  may 
be  relieved,  by  the  interposition  of  Piomingo, 
from  the  galling  oppression  and  intolerable  in- 
justice he  suffers  from  the  "organs  of  speech" 
of  the  polished  inhabitants  of  the  cityof  Phila- 
pelphia.  No  people  are  more  ready  to  com- 
dlain,  of  any  real  or  imaginary  grievance,  than 
the  citizens  above  mentioned  ;  yet  they  fbrget 
the  golden  rule,  of  doing  to  others,  as  they 
would  that  others  should  do  unto  them,  when 
they  deprive  your  remonstrant  of  his  undoubted 
right  and  inheritance. 

It  has  long  been  known  to  all  the  world, 
that,  many  years  ago,  w  usurped  the  station  of 
h,  in  such  words  as,  when,  where,  ichat.  Sec. 
which  ought  to  be  written  hwen,  hwere,  hwat, 


&c.  H,  at  first,  felt  indignant  at  this  treat, 
ment ;  but,  as  a  long  continued  usurpation  is 
said  to  confer  a  legitimate  right,  he  was,  at 
lasl,  induced  to  yield  the  precedency  in  these 
words,  as  he  was  assured  that  he  would  lose 
none  of  the  power  by  his  acquiescence.  It 
was  represented  to  him,  that  the  king  of  Great 
Britain  had  long  used  the  title  of  king  of 
France,  witiiout  claiming  the  least  right  to  in- 
terfere in  the  .iffairs  of  that  kingdom  ;  that  the 
emperor  of  Cliina  was  styled  "  sole  governor 
of  the  earth,"  without  other  princes  supposing 
that  their  sovereignty  was  affected  by  this  ar- 
rogant assumption.  These,  and  various  other 
things,  were  mentioned  to  prove  that  the  con- 
descension of  A,  in  this  particular,  was  nothing 
remarkable. 

But  h  observes,  with  infinite  dissatisfaction, 
tliat  his  peaceable  disposition  has  led  mankind 
to  suppose  that  he  will  submit  to  every  species 
of  injustice  tliat  may  be  inflicted  by  the  world. 
While  he  only  thought  that  he  was  yielding 
precedence  to  another  letter,  he  finds  that  his 
undoubted  and  unalienable  rights,  privileges, 
pnd  powers,  have  been  suppressed  and  de- 
stroyed. Who  now  can  hear  any  thing  of  the 
sound  of  A  in  a  numerous  cla's  of  words  when 
pronounced  by  a  Philadelphian  ?  The  words 
what,  when,  where,  toheel,  lohich,  xcharf,  and  a 
hundred  otiiers,  are  pronounced  by  the  un- 
learned,  and  alas  I  by  the  learned,  exactly  thus, 
wat,  loen,  were,  weel,  witch,  warf,  Sec. 

The  lette?  h  begs  leave  further  to  represent 
that,  independent  of  any  personal  considera- 
tions,  this  practice  introduces  unheard  of  cor- 
ruption  and  confiision  into  the  language,  as 
may  be  seen  by  the  following  view  of  the  sub- 
ject:  What  and  loot,  loheel  and  tceal,  when  and 
wen,  ichere  and  were,  whet  and  wet,  whetstone 
and  wet  stone,  whether  and  weather,  whetter 
and  wetter,  whey  and  way,  which  and  witch, 
whig  and  wig,  white  and  wile,  whin  and  win, 
whine  and  wine,  whist  and  7oist,  whit  and  wit, 
white  and  wight,  whither  and  wither,  (Sic.  are 
words  in  the  English  language,  expressive  of 
distinct  and  independent  ideas  ;  yet  every  one 
in  the  above  list  is  pronounced,  in  opposition 
to  the  united  voice  of  the  orthoepists,  exactly 
in  the  same  manner  as  its  yokefellow.  Let 
this  and  other  grievances  be  redressed,  and 
your  remonstrant  will  demean  himself  as  a 
peaceable  member  of  the  alphabet,  and  as  a 
liege  subject  of  the  republic  of  letters;  other- 
wise, you  will  be  troubled  with  some  "  hard 
breathing"  occasionally. 

Prudence. 
Of  all  the  qualities  of  the  mind,  prudence  is 
the  most  useful.     It  is  the  virtue  of  civilized 
nations.     What  is  prudence  ?     It  is 

A  sly  slow  thing  with  circumspective  eyes.' 

It  takes  a  full  view  of  the  ground,  and  advancei 
with  caution.  It  subdues  all  violent  emotions, 
of  whatever  nature  they  may  be.  It  forms  no 
friendships  but  profitable  ones ;  and  these  ar« 


THE  SAVAGE  19 

preserved  no  longer  than  they  continue  so.    It  and  we  wish  to  communicate  to  other9   the 

studies  the  character  of  its  neighbor :  it  marks  happiness  which  we  feel- 

his  dispositions,  propensities,  and  passions ;  Nature  has  been  bountiful  to  us  :  and  our 
and  avails  itself  of  every  advantage  that  may  hearts  swell  with  emotions  of  benevolence  too 
be  drawn  from  knowledge  thus  acquired.  It  mighty  for  utterance.  We  would  dispense 
hurries  its  friend  into  a  paroxysm  of  rage,and  blessings  with  a  hand  of  unlimited  profusion, 
deliberately  notes  down  every  extravagance  of  and  pour  into  every  heart  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  moment.  It  then  soothes  the  irritated  our  joy.  We  think  that  all  mankind  are  pos- 
passions  of  its  openhearted  dupe,  and  reaps  the  sessed  of  the  same  innocence,  simplicity,  and 
full  harvest  of  his  returning  kindness.  It  benevolence,  of  which  we  ourselves  are  con- 
worms  itself  into  the  confidence  of  the  unsus-  scious  ;  the  young  tendrils  of  our  affections 
pecting,  and  waits  the  proper  moment  to  betray  lay  hold  of  every  object  they  can  reach  ;  and 
it.  In  fine,  its  constant  business  is  to  mark  we  resign  ourselves  to  the  raptures  of  friend- 
out  the  defects  of  others,  and  cooly  take  ad  van-  ship  and  of  love.  Must  the  dream  have  an 
tage  of  every  weakness.  It  digs  a  pit  for  the  end  ?  Can  no  charm  make  the  delusion  coeval 
stranger,  and  lays  a  stumbling  block  before  with  our  existence  ?  Shall  the  frosts  of  ad- 
the  blind.  O  for  "  a  hundred  tongues,  and  a  versity  nip  the  young  shoots  of  our  affections  ? 
voice  of  iron,"  that  we  might  curse  thee  Pru-  Shall  the  mildew  of  vice  blast  the  fair  hopes 
dence  !  of  a  harvest  of  happiness  ?  or  shall  the  enemy, 
— ^  in  the  night,  sow  the  tares  of  dissension  and 
To  Correspondents.  distrust? 

We  lately  received  two  communications:  .^^fPPy^''^  they,  whose  life  terminates  ere 
one  was  addressed  to  "  Piomingo  Muscogul-  ^^^  ^^'^"^  confidence  of  youth  is  destroyed  i 
gico,  Esq. ;  the  other,  to  "Mister  Piomin|o."  ^^PP^  ^\^  'hey,  who  live  not  to  discover  the 
We  were  so  much  displeased  with  the  titles,  "ror  under  which  they  have  labored  I 
which  had  been  so  courteously  bestowed  npon  ^^'^^  '"^^y  7^  remember  the  moment  when 
u.,  that  we  threw  aside  the  communications  ^®  renounced  with  anguish  of  heart  and  bit- 
without  so  much  as  readin<r  them.  '^'""^^^  °^  fr^'r^l"^  confidence  we  had  reposed 

We  earnestly  entreat  ou^'r  correspondents  to  J.»  the  world.     The  fair  face  of  nature  was  de- 

address    us   bf  our   name   only,  without  any  ^°''T'^'  ''^^<="P   of  delight  was  dashed  from 

gothic  addition.    ,  We  kt.ly  gave  our  ideas  on  "^  ^'P' '  ''"^.  ^^  &''7  ^^"=^  °^  ^^'l  TT""?^' 

that  barbarous  and  unmeaning  appendage  to  a  ^''^  impression   made   on   our   minds  by  the 

n^me— esquire.     And    we  noiv    add,   that  no  tf^^chery  of  one  friend   is,  in  part,  effaced  by 

honor  can  be  derived  from  the  prefix,  rmsier.  ^^^  PJeasure  we  find  in  confiding  in  another. 

It  would   becommoH   to  us  with  the   barber,  ^^j  disappointment    follows   disappointment; 

the  coachman,  the  chimney-sweeper,  and  the  ^nd  perfidy  succeeds  perfidy.     Still  we  are  not 

oysterman  :  Mr.  Razor,  Mr.  Whip,  Mr.  Soot,  ^f^''^   discouraged.      Man  cannot  be   happy 

and  Mr.  Wheelbarrow.  ^.'"If  •     ^'^^  enjoyments  of  life  would  be  in- 

ir?"  Th^ro   ;„    «  „    J  -  11     •            -i       T  sipid,  could  we  not  share  them  with  others. 

li~r    1  here  is    considerable  ingenuity   dis-  rr-       •   j       i     u              u         j  .i 

played  in  the  reasonings  of  K.;  but  we  are  To  m.„ds  who  have  exchanged  the  sentiments 

not  disposed  to  propagate  such  opinions.  "Lasure    "^'            '' "°                      ^'  '          ' 

THE   c  A  V  A  r  T^     ATO    TV  Well  then,  let  another  smiling'deception  ap- 

proach — we  embrace  it.     Interest  or  caprice 

Recollections  of  Youth.  dissolves  the  enchantment — we  are  miserable. 

Whence  arises  the  happiness  of  youth?     Is  But  even  our  uneasiness  hurries  us  on  to  make 

it  owing  to   the   novelty  of  the   scenes  which  choice  of  a  new  friend.     The  blind  confidence 

surround  us,  and  to  th«   superficial  view  we  of  youth  is  destroyed  ;  but  the  social  principle 

take  of  persons  and  of  things  ?  remains,  and  forces  us,  contrary  to  the  plainest 

Nature  clothes  her  face  in  smiles;  and  we  dictates   of  cool  calculating  reason,  into  new 

inquire   no   farther,  but  resign    ourselves  with  intimacies. 

enthusiasm  to  appearances.     We  are  suscepti-  It  is,   nevertheless,   observable    that   early 

ble    of  the    impressions    of  every  species    of  friendships  possess  a  charm  which  is  unknown 

beauty ;    but  repel  with   impatience  the   ap-  to  those  formed  in  maturer  years.     After  hav- 

proaches  of  deformity.  ing  been  often  disappointed,  a  portion  of  fear- 

We  rejoice  :  whether  the  sun  rise  in  glory,  ful  distrust  mixes  itself  with  our  enjoyments. 

and  the  leaves  of  the  forest  are  spangled  with  We  wish  to  seize  the  golden   fruit;  but  we 

the  dew  of  the  morning  ;  or  whether,  setting  remember  the  apples  of  Sodom,     We   regale 

in  the  western  ocean,  he  dye,  with  streaming  ourselves  with  "  honey  from  the  rock  ;"  but  it 

gold,  the  summits  of  the  eastern  mountains,  is  mingled  with  gall.     In  a  moment  of  confi- 

We  rejoice  :  whether  the  rushing  of  the  north  dence  we  give   away  our  souls  :  and  the  suc- 

wind  be  heard  among  the  hills,  or  the  eastern  ceeding  instant  is  iinbittered  with  suspicious 

breeze  sigh  amid  the  tops  of  the  pines.     We  forebodings. 

rejoice:  whether  the  south  wind  breathe  on  "  He  that  hath  ears  to  hear  let  him  hear." 

spicy  groves,  or  the  gales  of  the  evening  curl  We  address  those  to  whom  nature  has    im- 

the  glassy  bosom   of  the  lake.     We   rejoice :  parted   a  portion  of  etherial  fire :  whose  lips 


20  THE  SAVAGE. 

■he  has  touched  with  a  live  coal  from  her  this  being  :  does  not  this  universal  censent  of 
heavenly  altar.  We  address  those  whose  mankind  speak  much  ag^ainst  him  ?  True : 
rulintr  passion  in  youth,  was  tn  reciprocate  but  it  is  also  to  be-  considered  that  this  is  the 
the  delights  of  friendship;  and  who  have  ex-    report  of  his  enemies. 

pericnced  the  mental  agony  and  mortification  While  these  thoughts  were  chasing  each 
that  rcEiilt  from  the  idea  of  having  misplaced  other  through  our  mind,  in  the  dead  hour  of 
their  early  affections.  We  address  not  those  the  night,  we  all  at  once  felt  astrong  inclina- 
who  have  always  sailed  on  a  smooth  sea,  with  tion  to  interrogate  the  devil  on  the  subject,  and 
reason  at  the  helm,  and  whose  bark  has  never  see  whether  he  had  any  thing  to  offer  in  his 
been  tossed  by  a  storm  of  tempestuous  passions,  own  defence.  It  appealed  to  us  to  be  but  jus- 
Their  tranquility  is  rather  owing  to  constitu-  tice  to  "hear  also  the  other  party." 
tional  insensibility  than  to  any  thing  else  :  And  whether  it  were  owing  to  a  periodical 
they  would  not  understand  us.  fit  of  insanity  to    which  we  are    subject,  or 

An  eleo-ant  author  puts  tlic  following  words  whether  what  we  are  about  to  relate  did  actu- 
into  tlie  rnouth  of  Arislippus,  the  philosopher :  ally  take  place,  we  will  not  undertake  to  de- 
"  Friendship  is  the  most  sublime  and  most  tcrmine.  Let  the  public  judge.  If  we  were 
dangerous  of  the  gifts  of  Heaven  :  its  enjoy-  mad,  there  was  "  method  hi  our  madness,"  as 
mcnts  are  delicious,  its  vicissitudes  tremen-  yo>.  will  perceive  when  we  relate  our  story, 
dous;  and  ouo-ht  a  wise  man  to  expose  himself  And  why  should  it  be  thought  strange  that 
to  losses,  the  bitterness  of  which  would  im-  we  should  see  the  devil  ?  It  is  only  what 
poison  the  remainder  of  his  life  ?"  A  wise  thousands  of  old  women  have  done  ;  and  our 
man  I  No:  Tlic  wise  man  of  Aristippus,  or  optics  are  as  good  as  those  of  any  old  woman 
of  Rochefoucault,  is  as  incapable  of  partaking  in  the  universe.  We  would  not,  indeed,  wish 
of  the  "delicious  enjoyments,"  as  he  is  of  ex-  to  have  it  supposed  that  we  are  very  intimate 
periencing  the  "tremendous  vicissitudes"  above  with  the  old  gentleman,  as  he  bears  but  an  in- 
roentioned.  Such  friendships  as  that  of  Aris-  different  character  :  and  we  are  very  desirous 
tippus  are  not  indeed,  uncommon :  he  would  of  supporting  the  dignity  of  our  character. 
"  admit  of  convenient  intimacies,  but  banish  We  should  not,  we  suppose,  incur  any  risk  of 
that  friendship,  which  renders  us  susceptible  being  burned,  at  the  present  day,  for  holding  a 
of  the  sufferings  of  others."  "I  was  in -lEgina,"  short  conversation  with  his  infernal  majesty; 
Bays  he,  "when  I  learned  that  my  dear  master  but  still,  as  we  could  produce  no  witnesses  to 
Socrates  was  condemned ;  that  he  was  in  pri-  testify  the  nature  of  the  intercourse  which 
son;  that  the  execution  was  delayed  for  a  might  subsist  between  us,  we  would  rather  not 
month;  and  that  his  disciples  were  permitted  to  have  it  thought  that  his  visits  to  us  were  very 
visit  him.  If  it  had  been  in  my  power  to  have  frequent,  especially  about  midnight.  But  the 
freed  him  from  his  chains,  I  would  have  flown  alarm  we  should  experience,  even  in  that  case, 
to  his  assistance;  but  1  could  do  nothing  for  appears  to  be  without  foundation.  Has  not 
him,  so  I  remained  in  iEgina."  Such  may  be  Satan  appeared  to  prophets,  apostles,  and  holy 
the  friendship  of  a  wise  man;  such  may  be  the  men,  in  all  ages  ?  Did  not  Michael  the  arch- 
dictates  of  prudence;  but  such  are  not  the  sen-  angel  treat  him  with  the  greatest  politeness? 
timents  of  virtuous  and  ingenuous  youth.  Indeed,  if  we  remember  right,  it  is  written, 
Such  are  not  the  sentiments  of  the  man  who  that  Michael  "  durst  not  bring  a  railing  accu- 
can  partake,  with  us,  of  the  entertainment  that  sation"  against  him.  How  then  could  it  be 
is  derived  from  these  melancholy  retrospec-  expected  that  we  should  have  the  heroism  to 
tions.  {To  be  continued.)  wage- war  with  the  devil  when  he  takes  it  into 

his  head  to  pay  us  a  visit?   No,  no:  we  thought 

The  Devil  '*•  ^^^^  ^°  treat  him  civilly,  as  Michael  did,  and 

*  thus  get  rid  of  him  as  soon  as  possible  :  for  we 

Posthabui  tamen  illorum  mea  sena  ludo.         ^.jn  ^^^  pretend  to  assert  that  we  were   alto- 

Books  have  been  written    on    the  rights  of  gcther  at  our  ease  during  the  time  of  the  in- 

man;  and  we  have  heard  much  of  the  wrongs   terview.     The  serious  fact  is  this,  and  we  may 

which  he  has  sustained.     In  one  treatise  the   as  well  acknowledge  it,  had  he  appeared  to  us, 

rights  of  woman  are  explained  ;  and  in  another   arrayed  in  his  nightgown  of  flame  and  sulphur, 

her  wrongs  are  exemplified.  with  eyes    like  two  bloody   moons,   and    his 

As  we   were  revolving  this  subject   in   our   mouth  open,  sputtering  hellfire  and  damnation, 

mind,  it  occurred  to  us   that  much   might  be    we  iiad  been    confoundedly  frightened.     We, 

■aid  concerning  the  wrongs  of  the  devil.     As    although  savage,  have  neither    tomahawk  nor 

to  rights,  we  will  suppose   that  he   has  none  ;   scalping  knife  ;  and  \vc  should  have  made  but 

but  does  that  justify  the  children  of  men  in    a  poor  defence  with  our  pipe-stem. 

imputing  to  him  crimes  of  which   he   is   not        But  what  did  you  see  ? 

guilty?     If  men  act  right,  they  arrogate  the        Have  patience,  good  reader,  (if  you  be  good, 
merit  to  themselves  ;    but  if  they  act  wrong,   which  we   much  question,)  we   have  a  way  of 
why  then,  forsooth,  itwaS  at  the  instigation  of  our  own  in  telling  a  story,  and  do  not  like  to 
M^"-  L  be  interrupted;  but  as  we  perceive  your  anxiety 

Men  in  all  ages  have  certainly  joined  to  at.   to  learn  the  issue,  we  will  endeavor  to  gratify 
Uibute   every  thing  wicked  to  the  agency  of  you  as  soon  as  possible. 


THE  SAVAGE. 


21 


In  the  midst  of  our  nocturnal  contemplation, 
we  were  alarmed  with  what  seemed  to  be  the 
rushing  of  wind  througli  some  of  the  adjoining 
apartments,  and  tlie  opening  and  shutting  of 
doors  in  ditferent  parts  of  the  building.  We 
listened.  All  was  silent.  Before  we  had  fairly 
composed  our  thoughts  after  this  interruption, 
we  were  startled  at  a  great  noise  ;  it  seemed 
as  though  it  had  been  occasioned  by  the  falling 
of  some  great  weight  in  one  of  the  upper  rooms. 
While  we  were  about  preparing,  though  not 
without  a  certain  unaccountable  trepidation, 
(for  we  are  natuially  brave)  to  examine  into 
this  matter,  we  heard,  distinctly,  a  noise  like 
the  report  of  a  pistol  ;  and  immediately  after, 
our  ears  were  saluted  with  a  low  but  sweet 
melody  :  it  was  like  the  distant  breathing  of 
an  Eolian  harp.  We  accidentally  turned  oTir 
eyes  toward  our  candle  :  it  sunk  down  into 
the  socket.  The  flame  was  lengthened,  but 
became  blue.  We  smelt  sulphur.  A  noise 
like  the  rustling  of  silks  was  heard  in  our 
apartment.  A  shadow  seemed  to  flit  by  us. 
We  raised  our  eyes,  and  perceived  a  form. 
The  outlines  were  indistinct ;  but  it  bore  the 
resemblance  of  a  man. 

"I  know,"  said  the  form,  "the  subject  of 
your  late  contemplations."  We  continued  silent 
for  some  time.  Had  we  not  been  infatuated, 
we  would  have  made  certain  cabalistical  signs, 
with  which  we  are  familiar,  that  would  have 
startled  our  inferaal  visitant;  but  it  never  oc- 
curred to  us.     Nemo  omnibus  Jioris. 

V\  e  at  last  mustered  courage  to  demand 
"  Who  are  you  ?"  The  answer  was  immediate 
and  explicit  "  I  am  the  devil." 

Piomingo.  You  are!  Well,  Mis/er  Devil, 
(for  as  we  knew  that  titles  were  delightful  to 
republicans,  we  concluded  that  they  would  be 
doubly  pleasing  to  the  devil,  who,  if  we  mistake 
not,  is  something  of  a  royalist  in  hell,  though 
he  acted  the  demagogue  in  heaven.)  Well, 
Mister  Devil,  how  came  you  to  be  acquainted 
with  the  subject  of  my  comtemplations  ?  You 
carmot  read  the  heart  ? 

Devil.  No :  but  in  my  rambles,  moving 
about  "  to  and  fro  upon  the  earth,"  I  have 
several  times  met  with  you.  And  when  you 
get  into  a  train  of  thinking,  you  make  so  many 
odd  grimaces  and  contortions,  that  any  devil 
of  common  sagacity  can  tell  every  thought 
that  passes  through  your  mind. 

Piomingo.  Squire  Devil,  [We  were  not  a 
little  uneasy  on  account  of  the  proximity  of 
the  "  roaring  lion,"  therefore  we  made  use  of 
this  Soothing  expression  to  smooth  dovi'n  the 
hairs  of  the  ferocious  boast.]  iS^Mire' Devil,  you 
I  possess  an  uncommon  share  of  ingenuity  :  be 
sa  good  as  to  inform  me,  to  what  fortunate 
circumstance  I  am  indebted  for  the  honor  of 
your  present  visit?  [We  had  heard  these  ex- 
pressions made  use  of  in  polished  circles,  and 
had  no  doubt  that  they  would  be  highly  grati- 
fying to  the  devil,  who  must  be  highly  civil- 
ized, having  met  with   hard  rubs  cneugh    to 


wear  off  the  rough  prominencies  of  his  original 
character.] 

Devil.  As  you  are  a  savage,  I  have  some 
hopes  that  you  will  deal  justly  even  with  the 
devil.  Civilized  men  have  a  proverb,  about 
giving  the  devil  his  due  ;  but  that  is  all.  I 
know  very  well  that  their  expressions  amount 
to:  vox  et praterea  nihil. 

Piomingo.  My  dear  sir,  (meaning  you 
damned  black  rascal)  My  dear  sir,  you  do  me 
gieat  honor  :  be  pleased  to  proceed — but  I  beg 
your  pardon — excuse  my  inattention — {hand, 
ing  a  chair)  I  beg  you  will  be  seated.  [We 
shall  not  be  accused  of  abject  servility  in  show- 
ing this  attention  to  the  devil,  when  it  is  re- 
mcmbered  that  we  were  in  the  presence  of  a 
powerful  bei"ng  "the  prince  of  the  power  of 
the  air,"  who  could  in  a  moment  have  blown 
fire  enough  out  of  his  nostrils  to  have  burned 
us  and  our  house  to  a  cinder.  We  have  heard 
that  he  is  in  the  habit  of  carrying  off  half  the 
house  in  his  flight,  if  he  be  any  way  dissatis- 
fied with  the  treatment  he  receives.  It  was 
probably  owing  to  our  intercourse  with  civil- 
ized society,  that  we  were  able  to  avert,  by  a 
few  soothing  expressions,  (which  cost  nothing) 
so  dreadful  a  calamity.  The  old  fellow  took 
the  chair  we  had  offered,  and,  drawing  it  up 
close  to  ours,  sat  down  with  the  greatest  com- 
posure. We  renewed  the  light ;  and  had  full 
leisure  to  examine  his  person  and  dress.  We 
were  amazed  at  the  fairness  of  his  complexion 
and  the  whiteness  of  his  riiinient,  until  it  oc- 
curred to  us,  all  at  once,  that  he  had  trans- 
formed himself  into  an  "  angel  of  light."  He 
observed  our  tobacco  pipe  lying  on  a  stand, 
and,  reaching  out  his  liand,  took  it  up,  and 
immediately  began  to  smoke.[- 

Devil.  )puffir)g  the  smoke  in  our  face)  I  find 
much  entertainment  in 'smoking. 

Piomiti'^o.  I  am  overpowered  by  the  con- 
descension of  your  majesty,  (meaning,  damn 
your  familiarity.)  [It  here  occurred  to  us  that 
we  ought  to  give  him  his  princely  titles  :  and 
this  civilized  stroke  of  ours  had  the  desired  ef- 
fect. He  became  remarkably  cheerful  and 
pleasant ;  and  we  pledge  our  savage  word  that 
his  countenance  was  not  disagreeable.  How- 
ever, upon  close  inapection,  (for  we  have  studied 
Lavaler)  there  appeared,  in  his  countenance, 
lurking  behind  a  profusion  of  smiles,  some- 
thing of  cunning  and  malignity.  Such  visages 
we  have  often  met  with  among  men  of  the 
world.]  . 

Devil.  It  is  a  fact,  Piomingo,  that  men  use 
me  very  ill. 

Piomingo.  I  believe  tliey  do — but,  would 
your  infernal  sublimity  taste  a  glass  of  wine  ? 
"[Here  we  arose  and  brought  a  decanter  and  a 
couple  of  glasses,  saying,  asirfe,  (not  so  loud  as 
they  do  at  the  theatre  though)  "The  old 
scoundrel !  I  wish  it  was  melted  lead  for  his 
sake!"  but  as  we  did  not  wish  to  make  the  old 
fellow  tipsy,  we  slyly  mixed  a  little  water  with 


22  THE  SAVAGE. 

the  wine.     For  all  which  proceedings,  wc  have  little  meannesses  to  which  men  are  addicted. 

tlie  best  civilized  authority.]  Does  any  one  act  preposterously  and  absurd- 

Ti-      •   „„    r}.^-,„i^„\  v„..,   .v,„:«ot.,'o  iio,i«h  ly  j  somewise  head  will   be   sure  to  observe, 
Piomiiigo.  {bowing)   Your  majesty  s  nealtn   {'  •  .  n     i    *  .1  u    u 

iiT„„  ..„.,  A«  ^^^^4, A  ^  ihl  /r^.ViVnn      i  cunnot  tell  what  the  man  means,     lie  has 

^77avmaJn')  '°^'  '''^  ^""^"^'  °^  ''^"  ''^"'^  '^  '"  '"'"•"    ^^^'^* 

Z^irr  (fcoi««-)    Your  health!  I  wish  you  'listraction  1  Do  the  children  of  Adam  suppose 

everlasting   prosperity  !      [Non   ego    credulus  that  they  would  act  wisely  were  it  not   or  the 

....  ,  s,    r      t:       J         L  b  wiles  ot  the  devil?     Must  all  their  folly  and 

rConld   there   be  any  thing  wronff   in    our  I'-^^^'^y  ^e  laid  on  my  shoulders    as  well  as 

shmvin<.  this  attention  te  the  devil  ?     It  was  a  "-^^^  meannesses  and  wickednesses  ? 

lesson  we  learned  from  the  men  of  the  world.  .  ^h">  again   they  make  me  a  picture  of  de- 

We  have  often  seen  tliem  adulating  and  caress-  ^^^'^''^  ^^  ^^"  =^«  ^''^  ^"'hor  of  iniquity.     U 

in.  men  whom  they  hated  much   more  than  ^"7  «»«   mi.s-shapen    or   hard-favored  ;    some 

wc  do  the  devil.     If"  we  were  wrong,  they  are  jackanapes  w.U  undoubtedly  excL.m    »  He  13 

*      V      '  ■='       •'  as  ugly  as  the  devil !"     The  puppies !  must  I 

douijiy  oo.j  r -.v,«..i„    be  the  prototype  as  well  of  corporeal  as  of  men- 

Piomtmo.     Men,  now,  as  well  as  formerly,      ,    ..F    ■,,f'^,v-u       u     u  .1  .7. 

,        ..='  ^j.      ...'  tal  obhquity  I     Why  should  they  suppose  that 

speak  evil  ofdignit.es.  j   ,^^^  ^^^^^^  ,.^^  ^  ^     ^^ 

Devi .     Yes,  men   are  very  wrong  m  attri-   „    ..      ■    r        .       .    ,  •  ■  1  .  1      .^.     1 

,  /,         •,       1-  u"»u       .u„.v,o„i.,„„    By  the  internal  gods !  my  imperial  blood  boils 

butmo' to  me  the  evils  which  they,  themselves,     J  1    i-     1  "    j         .•        '^ .         t.u-    i      *■ 

"•        Tj     1  .11        ,  „r,  ^^„;i    with  diabolical   indignation,  when    I  think  of 

commit.     I  declare,  upon  the  honor  ot  a  devil,         .      1      j  •        1     n  ^ 

,       T   1         .  ~       ir     -.1,  »u„  o<r.;,o  sach   slanderous  aspersions  — But    my    time 

that  I  do  not  concern  myself  with  the  aitairs  "^     .•  ,1  •  ^  j 

t    h  11  '^^^  come — they  may  tall  in  my  power — and 

ot  t  e  vyor    .  then,  ye  powers  of  darkness  !  how  I  will  roast 

Piommso.  How  then  did  it  happen  triat  you     .         ,   rij        .1      j      1  r  u  •   .         r    • 
J        ,    s  ,i„,  xv„   fr^rr,  fi,^  them:  [Here  the  devil  fell  into  a  turious  pas- 

seduced  our  gfreat  grandmother  tive,  trom  tlie  vi      r  j     »  .1  .u  1      £ 

,       c       .-.   J     1  i.i„^o„;„^=?  '^'^n-     "C   teamed  at  the  mouth ;  sparks  flew 

paths  of  rectitude,  by  your  subtle  devices .'  .  •   j     <•    „    u-  j    fu  1 

^    r>     •;     n    .K  *  ,„,.,  ^;ff.„r^r,*   ^^^^    "^   myriads   from   his   eyes;  and    the   smoke 

Demi.    O,  that   was   a  very  ditrerent   case.       ,,  y,.         ,  .  .    1  ,   ,,r  .      -,-    .  i 

T-.  '.  u^        c\.^,..-cnt    ;..    v,or   Tollcd  trom  his  nostfils.'   We  were  terrmed.l 

Eve   was    virtuous :  she  was   correct    111    her        u-      •  m  ^        •    i_  l       •* 

conduct,  an.l   it  required  all  the   ingenuity  of      ^«»»»"^o-     The  resentment  shown  by  your 

the  devil  to  set  her  wrong.     Your  poet  Milton  '"^  7/ ''^'^"^^  ♦  T    i,     1^       »      «• 

gives  a  very  true  account  of  the  trouble  I  had        ^^''^'-  ./  [^^^  ^"y  ^rue  ;  I  should  no    suffer 

p     ,,    .      J-        n»i,         ;    J  „j     :o   .!.„   ^.,1,,  my  serenity  to  be  disturbed  by  their  contempti- 
in   that    atf.iir.     Milton,    indeed,    is   tlie   only      /        ,■      ■,        ru        •  ji-        •• 

•  u   *     •  .u-         I : I, „„«„....««*  ;^<,tL  Die  malignity.     [Here  ne  suppressed  liis  aglta- 

writer  thjt  ffives  any  thing  like  a  correct  idea     .  ,."  ,    ,  .  ■'•       ,  j      m  j         »i.      u 

\-  >•   111  tion,  adjusted  his  robe,  and  called  up  the  obe- 

ofdiaboical  manners.  j-      .         1      ■     u-  \  i 

ir.-      •  r>   .  ••     I  .  ,t  ,„„..,  dient  smiles  in  his  countenance.! 

Piommso.  But,  may  it  please  your  tartarean        i,  ••  -17-  ii-     ••       u     u       »i. 

,.    ,  <=,  '       {      ^       .       r„  „,;„«„,.         Piomingo.    Your    subhmity   should    rather 

h I crhness.  have  we  not  accounts  ot  your  inter-    ,     .  °  -        .1    •    rn     .u  /r 

'"..'.,  <-.u„  „.  ,1^  i„r,rr  =inoo  dcrivc  amuscmcnt  fiom  their  folly,  than  suflFcr 

fcnncr  m  the  concerns  of  the  world  long  since  .  .  .  _-."  . 

,     >,,    -  •    ,u^  „  o„  «r  T„K  ?  It  to  give  you  any  uneasiness.    Your  majesty's 

the  full  of  man  :  as  in  the  case  ot  Job  7  ,     y^     J  J  J      J 

Devil.  O  yes,  when  any  thing  occurs  worthy  ^  "I,     •,     t,.    •     /•  11      •               •          ,j  •  i- 

of  my  altentiori,  I  am   not   backward,  on  my  f^'^  T^ieir   folly   is   amusing;  {drinking 

part,  in  furthering  the  interests  of  my  kingdom,  ^md  bowing)  very  amusmg  indeed.     To  hear 

Wh^n,  once   in  a   thousand  years,  or   so,  the  a  tcllow  call   one  of  his    neighbors    "a   great 

ij        J  ,  „„  „   ™^v.  iiiro  tA    t  tUi,r>  finH  if  overgrown   devil;"    and   in  the  same   breath 

world  produces  a  man  like  Job,  I  then  rina  it  ,      =■                      '                                         ,     .,  „ 

necessary  to   exert   all  my  infernal   talents  to  describe  another  as  "  a  poor  puny  little  devil." 

degrade  him;  lest  his  example  should  become  »«.  "?»" .^y  soul,  very  amusing-ha  ha  ha/ 

destrux^tivetotheeauseofimmorahty;  but,  I  „  ^T'.TV  ?^    ^'^   ''V     ^^"     Tk    "^^ 

protest  to  you,  by  the  majesty  of  Pandemofiium,  ^"'^^^  !  ''Ut  had  we  not  been  diverted   by  our 

that  the  vvorld   is  at  present  so  wicked,  that  {"'^"^''^  '''T'\V^'  r""  "i'°"'''  have  offended 

there  is  not   the    smallest    necessity   for    the  l'>.m  eternally      We  therefore  dragged  the  un. 

malignant  agency  of  the   devil.     Job  was  an  wiU'ng  convulsion  into  our  visag-e,  and  laughed 

object  worthy  of   my  ambition:  but  do   you  """^^  obstreperously.     Wc    all  know   that,  m 

suppose  that  it  was  through   my  instigations  the  common  occurrences  of  life,  it  is  absolutely 

that  his  wife  acted  in  the  manner  she  did?    If  necessary  to  laugh  at  all   the   dull  jokes   and 

you  do,-  you  are  mistaken.  '"«>P^d  sayings  of  a  rich  man :    how    much 

Piomingo,    Your  excellency  knows  best:    I  more  incumbent  was  it  upon  us  to  be  titillated 

yield    full    credence    to    all    your    assertions,  by  the  pleasantry  of  his  majesty  of  Pandemo- 

(Meaning, /tnowwOM  to  6«t/<e  "/af/iero/iits,"  "'"'"    J    ^-  ,               .     ,       ,,.         , 

and  do  not  believe  a  laord  you  say.)  ■^««*'-  ^f  the  magnitude  of  him  who 

Devil.    But  that,  which  displeases  me  more  ..  c<,l!ectin?  all  his  might,  dilated  stood, 

than  any  thing  else,  is  their  habit  ot  attributing       L,ke  Teneriffor  Alias  ; 

to  me   the   origination   of  a  thousand   pitiful 

sneaking  little    criminalities,    with   which,   I  of  whom  it  is  said  that 

swear  Ky  the   blue   blazes  of  Tophet,  I  would  .,  ^-^  ^j^^,^^^  ^^^^^^^  ^j^^  ^^     ^^j  ^^  ^i^  ^^^^^ 

not  dirty  my  fingers      My  conscience  is,  cer-       gat  horror  plumed  ; 

taiiily,  not  very  troublesome;  but  1  indubitably 

would  not  debase  my  infernal  dignity  so  much  of  the  magnitude  of  such  a  one,  I  say,  mortali 

as  to  assist  in  the  perpetration  of  a  thousand  may  talk  with  the  utmost  propaety. 


THE  SAVAGE. 


28 


Piomingo.  With  the  utmost  propriety.  [We 
had  learned  that,  amonor  men,  nothing  gives 
greater  pleasure  to  one  who  is  ambitious  of 
making-  a  display  of  his  oratorical  powers  in 
conversation,  than  barely  to  assent  to  every 
thing  that  he  says  ;  and  if  this  assent  be  given 
by  repealing  a  few  of  the  orator's  own  words, 
the  satisfaction  will  be  complete.  We  con- 
cluded that,  ill  all  probability,  the  case  was  the 
eame  among  devils;  and  therefore  we  played 
off  our  civilization  upon  the  'god  of  this 
world.'] 

Devil.  But  to  talk  of  a  little  devil,  is  as  ab- 
surd as  to  talk  of  a  ^reai  man 

Piomingo.  iVhich  would  be  "the  height  of 
absurdity.  [We  felt  the  meanness  of  our  con- 
duct in  yielding  this  point  to  the  old  sinner ; 
but  as  we  had  put  on  the  pointed  visor  of  re- 
fined man,  wc  determined  not  to  throw  it 
off.] 

Devil,  I  have  sometimes  supposed  that  your 
gay  ones  were  like  to  have  correct  ideas  of  in- 
fernal  beauty,  when  I  have  heard  them  say  of 
a  fine  girl,  "  She  is  devilish  handsome ;  but  I 
found  this  was  merely  owing  to  a  strange  par- 
tlality  they  had  for  the  word  "  devilish  :"  it 
being  applied  indiscriminately  to  beauty  and 
deformity.  Indeed,  all  words,  that  have  any 
relation  to  my  lower  dominions,  appear  to  be 
favorites  with  these  mortals.  The  icords  cer- 
tainly are  expressive.  But  the  thing  that  dis. 
pleases  me  is  this  :  they  use  them  without  any 
regard  to  propriety.  One  man  is  "  damned 
rich;?'  another  is  "damned  poor."  In  summer, 
it  is  as  "  hot  as  hell ;"  and  in  winter,  as  "  cold 
as  damnation  :"  the  word  "  damn"  and  its  de- 
riratives,  making  nearly  one  half  of  their  vo- 
cabulary. [The  clock  struck  one.  He  van- 
ished, leaving  nothing  behind  him  but  a  sul- 
phureous stencji.  Had  he  taken  his  leave  in 
an  orderly  manner,  we  would  have  waited  on 
him  to  the  door,  and  requested  the  honor  of 
another  visit; — but  we  were  extremely  well 
pleased  with  the  manner  of  his  departure. 

After  looking  cautiously  round,  and  becom- 
ing  perfectly  satisfied  that  he  was  actually 
gone,  we  began  to  abuse  him  most  politely, 
cursing  him  and  all  his  generation  from  the 
beginning  of  the  world  to  this  day,  and  im- 
puting to  his  instigation  every  error  of  our 
life.  We  called  him  wicked,  mean,  black,  de- 
formed, clovenhoofed,  horned;  and  gave  him 
every  other  opprobrious  epitiiet  that  we  could 
find  in  the  English  and  Muscogulgee  lan- 
guages.    We  grow  civilized.] 

Letters. 
Excellence  in  letter  writing  is  allowed  by 
the  best  judges  to  be  difficult  of  attainment : 
and  the  directions  that  are  laid  down  to  guide 
us  in  the  pursuit  of  this  excellence  appear  to  be 
defective  We  are  told  that  the  style  must  be 
easy  and  natural ;  and  that  we  should  use 
nearly  the  language  of  conversation.  This  is 
very  true ;  tut  in  conversation  we  are  generally 


prolix,  and  it  is  necessary  in  writing  a  letter 
that  we  should  avoid  that  prolixity.  It  requires 
a  considerable  portion  of  ingenuity  to  condense 
our  matter  sufficiently,  and  still  retain  that 
ease  and  simplicity  which  are  indispensable 
requisites  in  epistolary  writing. 

Every  appearance  of  carelessness,  in  a  letter, 
is  an  insult  offered  to  the  person  with  whom 
we  correspond.  "  When  we  receive  a  letter 
from  a  person  who  calls  himself  our  friend, 
written  in  a  careless  and  slovenly  manner,  we 
are  always  much  more  displeased  than  if  that 
friend  had  not  written  at  all. 

Letteis,  on  business,  may  be  as  short  as  one 
pleases  :  and  the  shorter  the  better,  if  they  be 
sufficiently  full  and  explicit ;  but  letters  of 
friendship  ought  to  be  somewhat  extended  ;  if 
they  be  very  brief  it  is  informing  our  corres- 
pondent that  we  do  not  choose  to  devote  a  mo- 
ment's attention  to  him  or  his  affairs,  more 
than  the  cold  rules  of  politeness  imperiously 
demand. 

Wc  have  read,  with  mixed  and  undefinablc 
emotions,  certain  strictures  on  our  publication 
which  have  appeared  in  Poulson's  American 
Daily  Advertiser.  That  a  man,  possessing  a 
cultivated  mind  and  a  discriminating  judgment, 
should  bestow  praises  on  our  talents  is  highly 
gratifying;  but  that  he  should  find  any  thing 
to  blame  in  the  sentiments  we  inculcate  gives 
us  unaffected  concern.  We  are  not  so  savage 
but  that  a  monitor,  who  appears  in  friendly 
guise,  may  find  a  ready  access  to  our  heart. 

The  observations,  alluded  to,  shall  appear  in 
our  next  number.  And  we  shall  take  the 
liberty  to  add  a  few  resnarks  of  our  own. 

THE  SAVAGE— NO.  V. 

Friendship. 

Our  observations  on  friendship  have  led  us 
to  reflect  on  those  institutions  of  society  which 
are  favorable  or  unfavorable  to  the  existence 
or  fontinuancc  of  the  social  affections. 

If  friendship  frequently  meet  with  interrup- 
tions among  savages,  how  much  more  unfortu- 
nate is  its  fate  where  the  system  of  appropria- 
tion is  carried  into  every  department  of  human 
affairs ;  where  education,  manners,  amuse- 
ments, and,  in  fine,  all  the  concerns  of  life,  have 
a  direct  tendency  to  encourage  and  establish 
the  selfish  propensities  of  the  human  breast ; 
where  the  first  lessons  of  youth  are  calculated 
to  brutalize  the  mind,  and  extinguish  every 
spark  of  generous  enthusiasm ;  where  every 
thing  is  carved  out  into  portions,  and  meum 
and  tuum  meet  the  eye  every  where  both  at 
home  and  abroad  ;  where  the  earth  is  divided 
into  sections,  the  water  descends  by  inheri- 
tance, and  even  the  use  of  the  air  is  appro- 
priated to  individuals? 

If  friendship  be  insecure  among  savages, 
where  there  are  none  rich  and  none  poor;  where 
the  earth,  the  air,  and  the  water  are  free ; 
where  the  whole  village  assembles  at  dances 


24  THE  SAVAGE. 

find  public  feast?,  and  all  unite  in  amusements  imagine  that  they  will  continue  for  over.  But 
interestino-  to  all;  where  -every  heart  is  light,  immediately  upon  entering  into  the  world  this 
and  evcrv^tonffue  utters  the  effusions  of  the  equality  disappears;  and  the  friendship,  if  it 
heart ;  where  all  unite,  in  one  body,  to  praise  should  still  seem  to  subsist,  degenerates  into 
tlie  God  of  tlieir  fathers  with  songs  and  with  overbearing  despotism  on  the  one  side,  a"d 
d;mccs,  wi'h  the  music  of  reeds  and  the  beat-  contemptible  cringing  sycophancy  on  the 
ing  of' drums;  where  the  joy  becomes  conta-    other.  {To  be  continued.) 

fl-inus,  and  the  gladness  of  the  soul  is  reflected  ^ 

from  face  to  fice,  until  the  sick  forgets    his  Literary  Intelligence. 

pain;  the  afflicted,  his  sorrow  ;  and  the  aged,  Peppermint  Canto  announces  to  the  public 
the  approaches  of  death;  where  all  join  in  one  j^jjg  intention  of  composing  the  segariad,  an 
,  dance,  and  all  sit  down  X.o  one  feast ;  where  no  gpjc  poem,  in  twelve  books,  enriched  with 
invidious  preferences  are  shown,  no  insu.tirig  ^otes,  critical,  historical,  political,  and  philo- 
privileges  usurped— if  friendship,  we  repeat  it,    gophical. 

be  insecure  under  these  circumstances,  how  ;^g  t^g  author  is  an  enemy  to  every  species 
precarious  must  its  situation  be,  where  nothing  ^f  useless  innovation  in  literary  matters,  he 
gives  importance  but  wealth,  and  wealth  has  ]^.^^  determined  that  the  segariad  shall  have  a 
no  connection  witli  individual  merit;  ^yhere  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end:  all  which 
the  higher  iind  the  lower  ranks  never  unite  in  j|^,.gg  things  are  said  by  the  critics,  to  be  m- 
the  same  amusement;  where  men  never  can  dispensably  requisite.  Had  not  the  opinion  of 
forget  for  a  moment  the  inequality  of  their  Aristotle  been  so  very  explicit  on  this  point, 
situations  in  life;  where  sordid  ignorant  bloat-  ^^e  author  had  it  in  contemplation  to  have 
ed  wealth  must  be  fed  with  fontinual  adulation,  written  an  epic  poem  without  beginning,  mid- 
and  indigent  merit  must  shrink  into  insignifi-  jjg^  qj.  q-^-^^  .  but  it  is  always  safer,  in  affc(,irs  of 
cance,  or  become  the  object  of  ridicule  and  such  consequence,  to  follow  the  footsteps  of  the 
contempt ;  where   every  association    of    indi-    ancients. 

viduals  is  a  school  of  intrigue  and  a  conspiracy  jjg  jg  resolved  to  launch  at  once  into  the 
against  the  species  at  large;  where  every  in-  middle  of  the  action,  as  was  done  by  Virgil  in 
dividual  watches  his  neighbor  with  an  eye  of  (.he  Eneid.  He  will  introduce  his  readers  to  a 
suspicion  and  distrust;  where  truth  is  never  young  man,  lolling  at  his  ease,  with  his  heels 
heard,  unless  for  some  malignant  purpose;  higher  than  his  head, and  the  smoke  ascending 
and  where  men  endeavor  to  wear  the  sem-  j^  fleecy  curls  to  the  ceiling.  Hence  he  will 
blance  of  virtue,  but  lay  it  down,  as  a  practical  ^ake  occasion  to  describe  some  of  those  de- 
rule,  not  to  be  incumbered  with  the  sub-  Jightful  reveries  into  which  the  mind,  of  a  man 
stance  ?  so    situated   and   so    employed,  is    frequently 

If  friendship  be  insecure  among  savages,  plunged.  Thence  he  will  conduct  the  reader, 
where  the  spirit  of  hoarding  and  the  desire  of  q^  ^  cloud  of  smoke,  to  the  Limbo  of  Vanity, 
accumulation  are  unknown,  how  must  it  be  where  he  will  give  an  accurate  description  of 
where  every  one  has  his  locked  coffer  vvhich  those  visionary  castles  which  have  been  erected 
incloses  the  object  of  his  private  adoration  ?       jn    that    fantastic    region    by   the    dreaming 

If  benevolent  affections  meet  with  frequent  smokers,  and  smoking  dreamers  of  all  ages, 
interruptions  where  the  institutions  of  society  He  has  this  introductory  part  of  the  poem 
are  such  that  merit  exerts  its  proper  influence,  already  composed,  and  assures  the  public  that 
and  worth  finds  its  due  level  in  the  community,  \^q  jg  extremely  pleased  with  the  sweetness 
what  must  be  their  fate,  where  there  is  no  and  harmony  of  the  versification  and  the  cloudy 
merit  but  wealth,  no  virtue  but  cunning  ?  obscurity  of  the    meaning,  which   so    happily 

We  arc  convinced  that  friendship  seldom  illustrate  those  apathelical  reveries,  when  men 
ctists  in  the  civilized  world,  unless  it  be  among  think  very  deeply  or  think  not  at  all.  Pope 
boys  at  school.  1  hese  sometimes  draw  cer-  rnay  talk  of  the  sound  being  an  echo  to  the 
tain  old  notions  of  virtue  and  justice  from  sense;  but  this  is  an  echo  of  which  he  had  no 
bnolts,  with  which  they  appear  to  be  captivated  idea. 

for  a  time  ;  but  as  soon  as  they  engage  in  the  The  author  has  invented  a  totally  new  epe- 
affairs  of  the  world,  they  find  it  necessary  to  cies  of  machinery,  with  which,  he  hopes,  the 
^Ct  initiated  inty  that  smooth  systerii  of  speci-  reader  will  be  highly  delighted.  He  acknow- 
ous  vice,  which  goes  by  the  name  of  prudence  ler'ges  this  to  be  a  daring  experiment;  but 
and  knowledge  of  the  world.  They  soon  dis-  he  has  the  satisfaction  to  think  that,  if  he 
cover  that  there  is  but  one  thing  needful.  If  should  fail,  it  will  be  said  of  him,  as  it  was  of 
they  can   acquire    that,  they  will    have   every  the  son  of  Apollo, 

thinor  at  command  ;  but  if  that  be  unattained,  „       -    .  . ,.. 

,     o    .„  ,  ,,'.  -^Tu  ,1  magnis  tamen  excidit  ausis. 

ihey  will  have  nothing.     Where  are  now  the  ^ 

gay  dreams   of   youthful  friendship?     'J'hcy       He  has,  7-eady  made,  a    number  of  finely 

have  vanished  as  the  morning  dew  before  rising  polished  episodes,  which  he  intends  to  attach 

sun.  to  the  work  as  he  proceeds.     Some  of  them. 

At  school  there  is  some  appearance  of  equal-  indeed,  appear   at  first  view  to  have  little  or 

ity.     Boys  there    form   connections    that    are  no  relation  to  the  action  of   the    goem  ;    but 

known  by  the  name  of  friendship,  and  fondly  he  feels   confident   that    he  will   be    able   to 


THE  SAVAGE  ft 

toeavi  them  so  ingeniously  into  the  main  weh  good  which  those  talents  properly  directed 
of  his  work,  that  they  will  appear  to  be  quite  would  be  capable  of  produciuf .  The  savage, 
natural.  He  has  already  thought  of  a  method  Piomingo,  is  a  present  and  strong  instance  of 
of  introducing^  the  wars  of  the  gi<nts  in  one  a  brilliant  imagination  and  improved  under* 
episode,  and  the  loves  of  the  chivalric  Smith  standing  thus  strangely  perverted.  What  Ian- 
and  the  princess  Pocahontas  in  another.  g'lage  does  he  use!  How  perspicuous!  Strengtk 

He  intends  to  begin  with  the  sf.gar,  and  and  harmony  are  blended  in  his  sentences, 
keep  it  as  much  as  possible  in  sight  through  Bestrews  the  paths  he  treads  with  flowers  of 
the  whole  course  of  the  work ;  and  has  no  in-  every  varied  hue :  he  deludes  the  judgment 
tention  of  using  it  as  disrespectfully  as  Cowper  with  his  fiiscinations.  But  sir,  his  views  of 
did  his  sofa.  that  happy  constitution  of  things,  which  haa 

He  assures  the  literary  world  that  he  has,  on  arisen  from  divine  revelation  and  the  wisdom 
hand,  a  number  of  virgin  similes,  with  which  and  experience  of  ages,  will  not  bear  examina* 
he  intends  to  embellish  the  segariad.  They  tion.  It  is  true,  man  is  a  frail  being.  His 
are  all  of  his  own  manvfacture ;  and  he  pledges  faults  are  numerous :  nor  is  there  one,  who  can 
his  word  that  they  have  never  been  touched  by  so  far  govern  his  appetites  and  passions  as  to 
Homer  or  any  other  poet.  be  free   from  error.    Prejudices  will   prevail 

He  desires  it  to  he  understood  that,  although  over  his  reason.  They  grow  with  his  growth 
the  sEOARiAD  will  be  an  epic  poem,  complete  and  strengthen  with  his  years,  to  whatever  so« 
in  all  its  parts,  yet,  it  will  hold  but  a  secondary  ciety,  whether  savage  or  civilized,  he  may  be- 
place  in  the  work  which  he  intends  to  offer  to  long.  Must  he  tl«;refore  shut  himself  out 
the  public  The  judicious  reader  will  take  from  all  society?  His  systems  of  education 
notice  that  the  poem  is  to  serve  as  a  medium  may  be  wrong ;  but  they  are  improvable.— 
of  conveyance  for  certain  highly  interesting  Another  direction  might  be  given  to  his 
observations  which  he  will  append  to  almost  thoughts :  his  views  might  be  more  extended  : 
every  line  of  his  meditated  production.  He  his  imagination  raised  to  heaven.  But  were 
informs  the  public  that  he  has  a  vast  quantity  he  to  divest  himself  of  the  opportunities  he  has 
oi literary  lore,  of  the  first  quality,  which  he  of  acquiring  knowledge;  were  he  to  bum  his 
will  present  to  the  public  in  the  term  of  notes  cities  and  flee  to  the  woods;  expose  himself  to 
on  the  SEGARIAD.  the  inclemencies  of  the  seasons,  and  to  a  de< 

If  the  reader  find  but  two  or  three  lines  of  pcndence  upon  the  precarious  supply  which 
the  text  on  a  page,  he  will  have  no  reason  to  the  chase  or  the  snare  might  procure  him— • 
bo  dissatisfied.     Let   him  peruse   the   notes  :   would  his  errors  be  rectified  ? 

there  he  will  find  instruction  blended  with  en-  rru        -^t             u-  u    t>-      •          j             * 

.    4  •          i      u       11 1      ^      J   ♦  fU«  «.;»:„  1  The    pictures  which    Piominpo  draws  of 

tertainment.     He  will  be  amazed  at  the  critical  ,.'-                    »  j     -.i        ^    x    .  T      j 

,..■     1            •.     1,;  ♦,;-  1  ,-„„„,„!,  savage  life  are  executed  with  a  master's  hand, 

acumen  pol.ti^ealaagaeityustoricul  research  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^,,  calculated  to  lead  the  unwary 

end  philosophical  profundity,  which  will  be  i^to  a  belief,  that  what  they  represent  is  true. 

there  dispLiyed.        g^  jjl^^   ^^^  paintings  of  many   other   dis. 

The  following  observations  are  copied  from  the  Pi^tful  objects,  the  stench  and  the  filth  are  left 

American  Daily  Advertiser.  O^** 

Mr.  Poulson, — A  small  publication  entitled  "  I  pity  the  man,"  says  Sterne,  who  can 

•  Tfie  Savage,"  fell  into  my  hands  a  few  days  travel  from  Dan  to  Beersheba,  and  cry,  all  is 

since.     I  have  .'•ead  it  with  careful  attention,  barren.     And  so  it  is ;  and  so  is  all  the  world 

but  I  cannot  give  it  the  sanction  of  my  appro-  to  him.whowill  not  cultivate  the  fruit  it  offers." 

bation.     Whatever  has  a  tendency  to  render  To  this  observation  of  Sterne  some  poetic  ^e. 

man  discontented  with  his  condition,  and  to  nius  has  affixed  a  few  lines  which  display  a 

excite  repinings  at  the  dispensations  of  Provi-  philosophy  in  consonance  with  the  sentiment, 

dence,  must  be  injurious.     The  virtuous  man  Allow  me,  sir.  to  offer  them  to  Piomingo  as  a 

would,  no  doubt,  wish  to  see  each  individual  most  invaluable  present.     Perhaps  they  may 

equally  virtuous  with  himself — but   however  serve  to  soothe  his  wounded  spirit :  completely 

ardently  he  may  desire  it,  it  is  certainly  ques-  to  tranquilize  it,  can  only  be  effected  by  a  reli- 

tion.-ible  whether  he  would  obtain  his  wishes  ance  on  that  gospel,  which  he  affects  to  treat 

by  becoming  a  savage.  with  contumely. 

MeH  of  cultivated  minds  have  existed  in  all 

times,  to  whom  civilized  society  has  not  af-  "  Away  with  complaints  of  distress, 

forded  any  gratification.     This  arises  perhaps        ,  ^'J'^"^''^  ^ /^'"^n"""  w°    w^'  i      > 

frnm  fnn  i,.o<.t  oo^noik;!*,  u  •  u  •  »  ui  Aiid  reflect -( twiU  niako  tfouble  scem  loss,) 
from  too  great  a  sensibility,  which  is  not  able  ^he  endearment  of  quiet  is  strife. 

,^u  ^'^^  ^  r  As  the  storms  of  the  ocean,  which  fill  with  alarm, 

"1  ho  stings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune."  Give  a  zest  to  the  pleasure  enjoy'd  in  a  calm. 
— Hence  we  find  the   pictures  they  draw  of 

such    society  deeply  tinged  with   the   melan-  "What  is  ii  gives  nature  its  grace? 

choly    which    unhappily    preys    upon    their      wSrii^rhlr^rfr!,:::;^^^^!'^''' 
^P'/'.         .  ,  ,        ,  ,  Or  ofPhebusdispelline  the  night? 

It  18  a  circumstance  much  to  bo  regretted  ;  By  contrast  alone  are  their-beauties  display'd. 
k  because  society  loses  in    every  instance  the  Their  coloring  heighlen'd  or  sofYen'd  by  shade. 
D 


26 


THE  SAVAGE. 


"  So  the  slare,  when  disburthen'ed  of  toil  ; 
The  culprit  who  meets  a  reprie»e; 
The  lover,  first  blest  with  a  smile, 

And  the  s<  eptic,  when  taught  to  believe ; 
Feel  the  change  in  their  prospects  hath  power  to 

bless 
In  proportion  exact  to  the  depth  of  distress. 

"If  griefs  then  your  journey  pursue; 
If  flocks,  herbs,  and  fields  be  laid  waste; 
Recollect,  bitter  aloes  and  rue 

Make  honey  more  sweet  to  the  taste  : 
And  around  you  when  darkness  and  tempests 

appear 
Think  of  winter,  which  ushers  the  spring  of  the 
year."  A. 

The  ing;enioas  author  of  the  foregoing  re- 
marks seems  to  have  mistaken  the  views  of  the 
Savage.  We  entertain  no  presumptuous  hopes 
of  effecting  a  revolution  in  the  minds  of  men. 
We  are  not  Quixotic  enough  to  imagine  that 
we  can  undo  the  work  of  ages,  and  bring  back 
man  to  a  state  of  barbarism.  This,  however 
desirable  such  a  change  might  be,  is  impossi- 
ble,  unless  by  the  means  of  some  tremendous 
convulsion  of  nature:  which  Heaven  avert! — 
The  utmost  of  our  ambition  is  to  afford  enter- 
tainment by  the  novelty  of  our  remarks  ;  and 
we  are  afraid  that  even  that  is  not  within  the 
limits  of  our  power.  There  are  but  two  spe- 
cies of  writing  that  the  men  of  the  present  day 
are  disposed  to  read  :  something  that  they  can 
turn  to  immediate  profit,  and  slanderous  asper- 
sions against  their  neighbors.  Now  as  we  are 
disposed  to  gratify  neither  of  these  propensities, 
we  have  very  faint  hopes  indeed  that  our 
Savage  will  become  popular. 

But,  if  it  be  asked,  what  will  be  the  eflFect  of 
our  remarks  in  a  moral  point  of  view  ;  we 
answer,  that  the  tendency  cannot  be  immoral. 
We  are  the  friend  of  virtue,  and  advocate  her 
cause.  We  are  the  enemy  of  every  species  of 
rice  ;  and  we  endeavor  to  draw  aside  her  veil 
and  show  her  to  men  in  all  her  native  de- 
formity. 

We  have  no  desire  "to  excite  repinings  at 
the  dispensations  of  Providence ;"  nor  do  we 
conceive  that  our  remarks  can  have  that  ten- 
dency. Could  we  render  men  discontented 
with  their  vices  and  follies,  the  consequences 
could  not  be  deplorable ;  but  we  are  not  led 
away  by  any  such  extravagant  expectations. 
This  sordid  calculating  money-making  genera- 
tion would  not  be  disturbed  in  their  operations 
even  "  should  one  rise  from  the  dead;"  and  we 
have  no  hopes  that  they  will  attend  to  "  the 
Toice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness." 

Of  that  happy  constitution  of  things  which 
might  have  arisen  from  divine  revelation,  had 
not  the  seed  fallen  among  thorns  which  have 
tfntng  up  and  choked  it,  we  can  form  some 
idea ;  but  of  the  boasted  wisdom  and  ezperi- 
«ac«  of  ages,  we  entertain  a  difTerent  opinion. 
By  thit  wi»dom  %ni  this  Mperienc«  men  ar« 


subjected  to  dangers,  diiHcuIties  and  misfor. 
tunes,  of  which  their  savage  fathers  had  no 
conception.  Where  are  the  beneficial  effects 
of  this  knowledge?  Have  men  learned  to  con- 
quer disease,  or  retard  the  approaches  of  death? 
Does  their  refinement  give  firmness  and  health 
to  old  age,  or  lengthen  out  the  period  of 
youth  ?  Are  the  mass  of  mankind  more  be- 
nevolent, more  just,  more  enlightened,  than 
they  were  formerly?  A  few  prejudices,which 
happened  to  have  no  connection  with  self^ 
interest,  have  been  discarded ;  but  others, 
much  more  pernicious,  have  been  guarded  by 
our  teachers  as  the  "  apple  of  their  eye." 
The  crimes  of  the  moderns  are  less  glaiing 
than  those  of  the  ancients,  but  all  their  actions 
aio  systematically  vicious.  They  are  not  the 
victims  of  a  moral  plague  or  pestilence ;  but  a 
sordid  leprosy  has  infected  the  blood  ;  and  they 
are  become  unclean  "from  the  crown  of  the 
head  to  the  sole  of  the  foot."  The  canker  of 
avarice  has  poisoned  the  constitution  of  socie- 
ty ;  and  its  moral  health,  as  far  as  we  can  per- 
ceive, is  irretrievably  lost.  This  one  evil 
smothers  every  young  and  generous  inclina- 
tion, and  has  erected  a  tomb  for  all  the  virtues. 
This  one  passion  is  the  source  of  all  the  evils 
which  afflict  humanity  :  it  has  withstood  the 
efforts  of  the  friends  of  man  in  every  age,  and 
rendered  of  none  effect  the  revelation  of  God. 

It  is  painful  for  us  to  answer  the  last  allega- 
tion that  is  brought  against  us  :  "that  of  affect- 
ing to  treat  the  gospel  with  contumely."  We 
never  have  treated  Christianity  with  contempt. 
We  never  have  attempted  to  ridicule  its  rites 
or  its  ceremonies,  or  deny  the  divine  authority 
of  its  precepts.  We  have  always  expressed 
our  admiration  of  its  maxims  of  morality  ;  and 
we  revere,  with  pious  enthusiasm,  its  divine 
founder ;  but  we  are  not  disposed  to  eulogize 
all  those  who  call  themselves  by  his  name. 
We  blame  not  their  Christianity,  if  they  have 
any,  but  their  departure  from  the  line  of  con- 
duct marked  out  by  the  precepts  of  the  gospel. 
Hereafter,  when  we  say  any  thing  against 
those  who  are  called  christians,  lot  it  not  be 
supposed  that  we  oppose  the  doctrines  which 
they  affect  to  believe  :  we  only  complain  of  the 
want  of  conformity  between  their  professions 
and  practice.  It  has  been  said  that  a  historian, 
in  order  to  be  f^thful  and  unprejudiced  should 
be  of  no  country  and  no  religion ;  why  may  it 
not  be  supposed  necessary  for  our  Savage  to 
have  the  same  negative  qualifications  ? 

With  Piomingo,  personally,  the  public  have 
no  concern  :  he  is  a  savage  by  nature,  and  so, 
we  suppose,  he  must  remain.  His  observations 
are  before  the  world  :  if  they  will  not  "  bear 
examination,"  let  them  fall.  Piomingo  is  not 
solicitous  about  their  fate.  He  once  cherished 
a  hope  of  literary  fame,  but  that  hope,  with 
many  others,  is  extinguished.  He  feels  grate- 
ful to  "  A"  for  the  philosophy  contained  in  the 
versw ;  but  has  no  great  regard  for  arty  obser- 
vations of  Sterne. 


THE  SAVAGE. 


m 


Prudence  Hall,  Oct  5, 1809. 

PloMiNQo,  are  you  a  bona  fide  savage  ?  By 
my  conscience,  I  would  be  glad  to  see  you. 
Where  the  devil  have  you  built  your  wigwam  ? 
I  have  been  looking  for  it,  these  three  or  four 
days,  all  along  the  banks  of  Schuylkill,  and 
over  in  Hamilton's  woods ;  but  my  labor  hag 
been  in  vain.  I  went  into  half  a  hundred  dis- 
mal dirty-looking  hovels  on  the  Commons, 
where,  by  my  soul,  I  saw  savages  enough,  but 
no  Indians.  Where  have  you  disposed  of 
yourself?  I  am  extremely  anxious  to  see  you ; 
but  not  altogether  through  idle  curiosity.  If 
you  will  favor  me  with  an  interview,  I  have 
something  to  propose  that  will  prove  greatly 
advantageous  to  us  both. 

I  will  just  give  you  a  hint  of  my  business  by 
letter,  that  you  may  be  the  more  readily  in- 
duced to  permit  me  to  explain  matters  fully  in 
my  proper  person. 

You  are  a  savage,  a  copper-colored  savage — 
Good.  You  are  tall  and  slender,  with  black 
«yes  and  long  coarse  black  hair — Good.  You 
have  high  cheek  bones — Very  good.  You, 
"without  doubt,  wear  jewels  in  your  nose,  and 
have  split  and  distended  the  lobes  of  your  ears 
— Excellent,  most  excellent!  I  would  rather 
possess  the  advantages  just  enumerated  than 
be  emperor  of  the  Gauls.  Only  make  the  pro- 
per use  of  the  directions  I  shall  give  you,  and 
you  will  have  the  wealth  of  this  populous  city 
at  command.  But  it  is  to  be  remembered  that 
if  you  adopt  my  plan,  one  half  of  the  profits — 
you  comprehend — one  half  of  the  profits  must 
be  appropriated  to  the  use  of  the  original  genius 
who  invented  the  scheme. 

But,  before  I  unfold  my  plan,  permit  me  to 
express  my  astonishment  at  your  conduct. 
You  appear  to  have  some  odd  kind  of  intelli- 
gence; and  you  inform  us  that  you  are  fifty 
years  of  age ;  what  then,  in  the  name  of  com- 
mon sense,  do  you  mean  by  preaching  musty 
sermons  on  morals,  and  prating  about  virtue 
and  honor,  and  the  like  ?  If  you  be  a  fool  at 
fifty  years  of  age,  you  will  be  a  fool  as  long  as 
you  live,  and  longer  too.  But  I  suppose  you 
are  a  deep  one.  You  mean  to  amuse  us  awhile 
with  your  fair  speeches,  and  then  make  a  bold 
stroke  at  our  pockets.  If  such  be  your  inten- 
tion, here  is  my  hand — you  will  find  me  a 
useful  associate  in  any  scheme  of  honorable 
roguery  you  may  have  in  contemplation.  For, 
(do  you  mark  ?)  I  have  too  much  principle  to 
engage  in  any  dishonest  practices  that  might 
endanger  my  neck  ;  but  I  am  the  very  lad  that 
can  impose  upon  the  world  in  a  genteel  way, 
you  understand  me  ?  The  world  is  overspread 
with  fools ;  who  appear  to  me  like  a  vast  field 
of  grain  ready  for  the  sickle.  Men  of  genius 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  enter  in  and  reap. 
The  task  is  not  difficult;  we  have  only  to  study 
their  weaknesses,  follies,  passions,  and  preju- 
^ices.and  improve  them  to  our  own  advantage. 
^Every  man  may  be  gulled  some  way  or  other. 
If  he  yvill  not  bite  at  a  minnow,  he  may  at  a 
^orm.    Labor  omnia  vineit  improbus  :  that  is 


mj  motto ;  and,  let  me  tell  you,  I  *m  seldoia 
unsuccessful  in  my  undertakings.  But  the 
scheme  I  am  about  to  propose  is  liable  to  no 
risk.  It  is  an  ingenious  advantage  taken  of  a 
universal  weakness  ;  and  cannot  miscarry. 

Let  us  come  to  the  point.  You  shall  set  up 
for  a  physician,  and  inform  the  public,  in  a 
pompous  advertisement  in  all  the  daily  papers, 
that  you  studied  physic  many  years  under  the 
celebrated  Kaioka  ;  that  you  are  perfectly  well 
acquainted  with  the  secrets  of  nature ;  that 
you  have  a  profound  knowledge  of  all  the 
simples  in  the  vegetable  kingdom ;  that  you 
spent  many  years  in  collecting,  with  your  own 
hands,  an  immense  multitude  of  plants  in  the 
Appalachian  mountains  ;  that  you  hare  dried 
them  with  sedulous  care,  or  extracted  their 
virtues  and  preserved  their  essences  as  inesti- 
mable remedies  for  all  the  diseases  to  which 
the  human  frame  is  subject ;  that  you  are  in- 
structed in  all  the  occult  sciences  and  super- 
natural learning  of  the  ever  memorable  Kaioka; 
that  you  are  a  perfect  master  of  every  species 
of  powwowing ;  that  you  can  ease  the  aking 
of  a  tooth,  and  charm  away  the  "  grief  of 
wound ;"  that  you  are  profoundly  skilled  in 
venereal  complaints,  and  can  afford  immediate 
relief  without  the  assistance  of  mercury  ;  that 
you  have  paid  particular  attention  to  the  nature 
of  female  complaints,  and  have  suitable  reme- 
dies for  all  their  indispositions — adding,  that 
your  secrecy  and  honor  may  be  depended  on; 
that  you  have  devoted  much  of  your  time  to 
the  consideration  of  those  diseases  that  result 
from  dissipated  pleasures,  immoderate  use  of 
spiritous  liquors,  residence  in  climates  unfavor- 
able to  the  constitution,  and  juvenile  indiscre- 
tions,and  you  feel  yourself  happy  in  announcing 
to  the  afflicted  that  you  are  able  to  renovate 
their  constitutions  and  restore  their  pristine 
health  and  vigor ;  that  you  are  possessed  of 
certain  arcana  that  are  absolutely  unknown  to 
civilized  nations,  which  will  enable  you  to  per* 
form  cures  that  will  astonish  the  world ;  that 
you  have  supernatural  cordials,  balms,  and  re- 
storatives, without  number;  that  you  have 
hypersupercarbonated  waterproof  liquid  black- 
ing for  boots  and  shoes,  deathdealing  poison 
for  rats  and  mice,  imperial  unguents  for  the 
itch,  and  worm-murdering  lozenges  for  child- 
ren ;  that  you  have  specifics  for  every  disease, 
and  salves  for  every  sore ;  that  you  have  tinc- 
tures and  lovepowders,eyewaters  and  corn-plas- 
ters; that  you  have  cosmetics  of  super-eminent 
efficacy,  celestial  perfumes  and  milk  of  the  roses 
of  Paradise;  that  you  have  a  beautifying  lotion, 
invented  by  the  princess  Onasycocoquanaha- 
mahala,which  will  remove  pimples  and  freckles, 
and  scars,and  make  the  skin  white  and  smooth 
and  soft  as  the  downy  feathers  on  an  angel's 
wing  ;  that  you  have  a  tincture  of  amaranthine 
flowers  that  bloomed  in  the  gardens  of  the 
lovely  Osyona,  which  being  used  daily  will 
preserve  beauty  to  the  latest  period  of  life,  and 
even  give  to  wrinkled  age  the  appearance  «f 
jouth. 


fiS 


THE  SAVAGE. 


When  yoa  have  enumerated  these  things 
and  a  hundred  others,  you  may  conclude  your 
»dvertisement  with  observing  that,  from  many 
years  extensive  and  successful  practice  in  the 
capital  of  the  Muscogulgees,  you  flitter  your- 
•elf  that  you  can  more  than  give  satisfaction 
to  those  who  may  apply  for  your  assistance. 

After  this  advertisement  has  been  some  time 
in  circulation,  yoa  mast  publish  a  list  of  yimr 
■oul-relicving,  body-restoring  and  w  rid. aston- 
ishing medicines.  You  must  invent  new  and 
unheard-of  titles  for  your  nostruins.and  express 
yourself  on  all  occasions  in  tho  most  bombastic 
and  unintelligible  manner.  Yon  must  declaim 
rotunda  ore,  and  tear  every  subject  to  tatters 
that  falls  in  your  power.  You  mast  outpuff 
the  pufFvjrs  of  this  puffing  people,  and  strike 
dumb  the  altiloquence  of  the  immoital  vendor 
of  the  barbal  alkahest,  and  diamond  paste  by 
the  terrisonous  explosion  of  your  altisonant  and 
ceraunic  magniloquy ! 

You  have  only  to  show  your  olive  phiz,  utter 
some  Muscogulgee  gibberish  and  heathen 
Greek  jawbreakers,  and,  by  the  god  of  knaves, 
the  whole  practice  of  the  city  is  your  own. 
Who  could  withstand  such  soft  majestic  words, 
pouring  from  your  sweet  old  ugly  copper- 
colored  mouth,  with  a  damned  crowbar  run 
through  your  nose,  a  new  moon  on  your  breast, 
and  great  silver  pendants  dangling  from  your 
ears  ?  Money,  my  dear  Piomingo,  money 
will  pour  in  upon  you,  as  the  waters  pour  upon 
the  earth,  when  the  windows  of  heaven  are 
opened.  When  life  is  in  danger,  men  draw 
forth  their  reluctant  dollars. 

This  is  the  flood  of  fortune.  Can  you  hesi- 
tate ?  You  cannot,  certainly,  doubt  of  your 
abilities  to  impose  upon  the  world.  In  fact, 
there  is  nothing  necessary  but  a  sufficiency  of 
impudence. 

When  you  are  called  to  visit  a  patient,  you 
have  only  to  feel  his  pulse,  bid  him  thrust  out 
his  tongue,  and  then,  laying  your  forefinger  by 
the  side  of  your  nose,  pretend  to  meditate  for 
some  time.  There  is  no  necessity  that  you 
■hould  pay  the  smallest  attention  to  the  sufferer 
during  the  few  minutes  that  you  stay  in  the 
room.  You  may  strut  about,  look  at  the  cur- 
tains,  pictures,  &.c.  and  examine  your  own 
lovely  person  in  a  mirror  :  a  physician,  having 
been  long  conversant  with  sickness,  sorrow, 
groans,  and  death,  it  is  not  expected  that  he 
should  discover  any  symptoms  of  humanity. 
When  any  qusstions  are  asked  by  the  relatives 
of  the  patient,  you  must  remember  to  give 
ambiguous  oracular  responses:  thus  your  credit 
will  be  preserved  let  the  case  terminate  as  it 
may.  Should  any  one  demand  to  be  informed 
of  the  nature  of  the  disease,  you  must  look 
learned,  mutter  something  about  the  cerebrum 
and  cerebellum,  cardia  and  pericardium,  ob- 
Btructed  perspiration  and  the  peristaltic  motion: 
the  inquirer  will  be,  not  only  satisfied,  but 
highly  pleased  that  you  considered  him  capa- 
ble of  understanding  your  discourse.  You 
mast  talk  much  of  the  number  of  your  patients, 


of  tho  necessity  of  attending  a  consultntioRT 
and  hurry  away,  leaving  "  Kaioka''s pills"  or  a 
"  tinctuie  of  life  everlasting." 

Should  the  sufferer  recover,  that  recoveiy 
will  be  attributed  to  the  efficacy  of  your  vege- 
table specific;  should  he  die,  you  may  lay  the 
blame  on  the  carelessness  of  the  attendants  in 
not  administering  properly  your  inestimable 
medicine,  or  on  the  obstinacy  of  the  patient  iu 
refusing  to  regulate  his  conduct  by  your  di- 
rections ;  and,  after  his  death,  you  must  re- 
member  frequently  to  make  some  such  obser- 
vation as  the  following :  "  Had  Mr.  Weakly 
taken  my  preparation  as  directed,  he  would 
have  been  a  living  man  at  this  day." 

Your  savage  appearance,  your  outlandish 
speech,  and  your  consummate  impudence,  will 
insure  the  success  of  our  scheme.  Men  are 
always  credulous  :  but  when  the  body  is  de- 
bilitated and  the  mind  enfeebled  by  long  con- 
tinned  sickness,  there  is  nothing  Ihey  may  not 
be  induced  to  believe,  A  bold  impostor  may 
rule  them  with  absolute  authority,  and,  by 
raising  and  depressing  their  spirits  as  circum- 
stances may  require,  draw  the  last  cent  from 
their  pockets.  He  must  make  them  feel  di- 
seases  that  never  existed,  and  then  administer 
cures  for  the  complaints  of  his  own  creation- 
lie  must  "speak  peace"  to  the  dying, when 
'  there  is  no  peace;"  and  terrify  these  who 
are  like  to  live  with  imaginary  dangers. 

Here  is  a  wide  field  for  the  exertions  of  a 
man  of  genius,  who  studies  his  own  interest 
and  pursues  steadily  the  means  that  are  ne- 
cessary for  the  accomplishment  of  his  pnrpKjses- 
But  he  must  not  be  disturbed  by  any  foolish 
qualms  of  conscience,  or  childish  sympathizing 
sensations.  No:  his  heart  must  be  stone  ;  his 
hand,  iron  :  and  his  face,  brass. 

How  unlucky  it  was  that  I  should  not  have 
been  born  black,  or  red,  or  even  yellow.  Had 
I  the  color  of  an  African,  a  Hindoo,  an  Ara- 
bian, or  a  Cherokee,  I  could  carry  my  plans 
into  operation  without  the  assistance  of 
another  ;  but  as  it  is,  I  am  under  tlie  necessity 
of  procuring  some  one  to  execute  that  which 
I  am  fully  capable  of  projecting.  This  head, 
Piomingo,  this  head  of  mine,  is  invaluable. 
O  what  great  schemes  have  perished  in  em- 
bryo, for  want  of  hands  to  embody  those 
sublime  ideas  which  have  originated  in  my 
brain  ! 

I  once  endeavored  to  educate  and  instruct  a 
great  flatfboted  knockkneed  humpbacked  blub- 
berlipped  splaymouihcd  woolly  headed  negro 
in  the  art  and  mystery  of  quackery.  His 
person  was  exactly  the  thing  I  wished ;  and  he 
was  uncommonly  shrewd,  and  as  impudent  as 
the  devil.  I  meant  to  have  introduced  him  to 
the  world  as  a  physician  from  Angola.  He 
appeared  well  contented  to  be  called  doctor 
Quassia,  and  to  have  money  in  his  pocket ; 
but  when  I  began  to  explain  the  secrets  of  the 
profession,  he  rejected  my  offers  with  disdain. 
He  gravely  asserted  that  he  could  not  reconcile 
it  to  bis  conscience  (his  conscience !  only  think 


THE  SAVAGE. 


S9 


of  that!  the  black  rascal  pretended  to  have  a 
conscience  I)  to  engage  in  the  prosecution  of 
my  plan ;  th  it  it  was  cruel  to  sport  with  the 
miseries  of  our  tellow  crc  itures  ;  that  it  was 
wicked  to  take  advintige  of  the  weaknesses 
and  follies  of  mankind ;  that  our  medicines 
would  never  do  ffood,  and  might  do  much 
harm ;  that  wc  should  prevent  the  afflicted 
from  applying  to  those  wlio  might  be  able  to 
afford  them  relief;  tiiat  we  should  destroy  the 
constitutions  of  the  healthy,  and  hurry  the 
feeble  out  of  the  world  when  they  miirht  other- 
wise  have  lived  for  years — "  What,"  cried  I, 
"QuiBsii,  are  you  mad  ?  Is  it  not  a  law  of 
nature  that  the  strong  should  |)rey  upon  the 
weak  ?  that  the  tiger  should  lie  in  w.iit  for  the 
stag  ?  and  that  th-:"  great  fishes  should  devour 
the  small  ?  Dunr  Quissii,  only  think  of  that 
all-destroying  animal,  mnn  ;  does  he  not  make 
a  prey  of  every  creature  that  is  subject  to  his 
power?  But  you  mu-st  know  that  men  not 
only  take  advantage  of  the  weakness  of  nil  in- 
ferior animals;  but  of  the  frailties  and  misfor- 
tunes of  their  own  species.  Only  look  through 
the  world  and  see  how  they  delude,  destroy, 
and  tyrannize  over  each  other.  There  is  no 
right  but  might;  there  is  no  law  but  power." 
Thm  I  attempted  to  reason  with  him  ;  but  in 
vain.  He  was  stubborn  as  a  mule ;  and  I  was 
obliged  to  dismiss  him. 

Since  that  time  I  have  never  attempted  to 
renew  my  project  until  the  present  moment. 
You,  Piomingo,  are  advanced  in  yeirs  and 
consequently  know  the  world.  Let  us  join  our 
forces  and  go  forth  to  battle.  We  are  sure  of 
victory ;  and  great  will  be  the  spoil. 
I  have  the  honor  to  be  &c. 

Epiiraim  Headwork. 

We  were  struck  dumb  with  astonishment  at 
the  impudence  of  the  scoundrel  in  making 
such  a  proposal  to  us.  In  the  first  transports 
of  our  fury  we  started  up  with  a  full  determi- 
nation to  search  him  out  and  offer  him  up  as  a 
sacrifice  to  our  insulted  honor  ;  but  reflection 
soon  showed  us  the  folly  of  our  passion.  There 
was  no  great  probability  that  we  could  find 
him;  and  if  we  should,  very  possibly  wc  might 
not  be  able  to  chastise  him.  We  therefore 
calmed  our  agitated  spirits,  and  resolved  to 
rest  satisfied  with  exposing  to  the  world  the 
projects  of  Mr.  Headwork  ;  and  this  we  have 
fully  done  by  publishing  his  letter. 

The  epistle,  we  have  had  the  honor  of  re- 
ceiving,  sheds  a  iilaze  ot  light  on  a  subject 
which,  before,  appeared  to  us  to  be  involved  in 
the  greatest  obscurity.  We  had  long  observed 
advertisements  in  the  public  papers  which  an- 
nounced infallible  remedies  for  every  disease. 
Cures  innumerable,  authenticated  by  the  most 
respectable  names,  demanded  our  implicit  be- 
lief: yet  still  we  heard  the  frequent  tolling  of 
the  bells,  which  proclaimed  the  daily  departure 
of  souls,  and  we  met  in  the  streets  the  melan- 
choly hearse  which  conveyed  the  lifeless  body  to 
the  grave !  We  were  amazed  at  the  onstinacy 
of  tie  people.    Why  should  they  die,  when 


health  and  lifo  courted  their  acceptance  7 
Ephraim  Hcadwork's  letter  has  explained  the 
laystery. 

But  is  it  not  strange  that  an  enlightened  and 
civilized  people  should  suffer  themselveis  to  be 
deluded,  in  a  matter  of  such  consequence,  by 
every  arrogant  pretender  ?  When  a  watch  or 
any  other  machine  of  the  like  nature  is  dam- 
aged  by  any  casualty,  it  is  sent  to  some  skillul 
mechanic  who  understands  its  structure,  and  is 
therefore  qualified  to  rectify  that  which  is 
wrong  :  and  when  the  human  body,  a  most 
complex  piece  of  machineiy,  becomes  deranged 
in  its  parts,  or  disordered  in  its  operations, 
how  can  we  expect  to  have  it  regulated  by  the 
hand  of  daring  and  unprincipled  ignorance? 

A  multitude  of  laws  is  one  of  the  distinguish- 
ing characteristics  of  civilization  :  why  then 
are  there  no  lawi  against  quackery?  Shall 
property  be  protected  by  innumerable  statutes, 
and  life  and  health  be  let. .t  the  mercy  of  every 
one  who  has  the  hardihood  to  assert  and  p^r- 
sist  in  a  falsehood  7 

THE  SAVAGE- NO.  VI. 

Virtue. 

It  has  already  been  proved,  that  the  direct 
tendency  of  what  is  called  civilization  is  to 
cri?ate  and  perpetuate  a  disparity  among  mm  ; 
and,  that  as  civilization  progresses,  the  number 
of  the  refined  is  diminished  and  that  of  the 
debased  and  degraded  part  of  the  community 
increased  in  the  like  proportion.  The  great 
majority  of  the  people,  therefore,  never  become 
sharers  in  this  refinement  which  is  so  highly 
eulogized  by  auliiors  who  understand  not  the 
subject  they  have  undertaken  to  discuss.  They 
have  said  much  in  favor  of  the  diffusion  of 
knowleds'c  ;  but  knowledge  can  never  be  gen- 
erally  difFuseii  under  the  present  constitution 
of  society.  How  can  men  acquire  knowledge 
who  arc  condemned,  by  their  necessities,  to 
never-ending  labor  ?  Much  may  be  said  in 
favnr  of  those  arts  which  humanize  the  mind, 
and  soften  the  feiocioos  passions  of  man  ;  but 
it  is  not  considered  that  this  humanized  and 
softened  being  requires  the  assistance  and  ser- 
vitude of  a  dozen  beings,  who  are  brutalized 
and  degraded  in  the  same  proportion  that  he  is 
refined  and  exalted. 

Hereafter  wc  will  endeavor  to  form  a  proper 
estimate  of  the  enjoyments  of  the  polished 
luxurious  man  who  requires  that  others  should 
be  miserable  and  wretched  that  he  may  become 
splendid  and  great :  at  present  we  will  confine 
our  ideas  to  that  immense  majority  of  mankind ,. 
the  laboring  poor. 

Are  they  virtuous  7 

When  a  man  of  this  description  becomes 
capable  of  reflection,  he  immediately  perceives 
the  disadvantages  of  his  situation:  there  are 
privileges  to  which  he  must  not  aspire  ;  there 
are  enjoyments  of  which  he  must  not  partake. 
He  finds  himself  necessitated  to  labor  continu- 
ally  for  a  wretched  subsistence,  while  others 


90 


THE  SAVAGE. 


enjoy  leisure,  amusement  and  pleasure  without 
any  exertion  of  their  own.  These  circum- 
stances hive  a  natural  tendency  to  sour  and 
imbitter  his  mind.  Envy  and  malignity  take 
up  their  residence  in  his  heart ;  but  as  he  sees 
no  opportunity  of  improving  his  situation,  he 
becomes  as  stupid  as  an  "  ass  couching  down 
between  twe  burdens."  He  is  despised  by  tlie 
world ;  and  he  despises  himself  When  he 
sees  that  he  is  utterly  contemptible  in  the  esti- 
mation of  others,  how  is  it  possible  that  he 
should  value  himself,  or  retain  any  idea  of 
personal  importance  or  dignity  of  character  ? 
It  is  not  possible. 

Honor  is  a  powerful  incentive  to  virtuous 
actions ;  but  honor  has  no  influence  with  the 
wretch  that  I  describe.  Shame,  in  certain  so- 
cieties, will  prevent  a  man  from  falling  into 
vicious  pursuits ;  but  shame  has  no  power 
over  this  victim  of  refinement.  He  is  already 
contemptible,  degraded,  miserable;  what  more 
can  he  fear  ? 

When  you  have  destroyed,  by  your  boasted 
civilization,  every  motive  to  virtue,  and  every 
preventive  of  vice,  in  the  great  body  of  the 
people,  do  you,  notwithstanding,  expect  to  find 
them  viituous?  We  will  undertake  to  say, 
that  you  are  very  unreasonable  in  your  expecta- 
tions ;  and  that  you  will  most  assuredly  be 
disappointed.  We  assert  with  confidence  that 
the  great  body  of  the  poor,  in  every  civilized 
society,  are  not  only  degraded  but  wicked  and 
malignant.  Whence  arises  the  multiplicity  of 
your  laws,  but  from  the  multitude  of  crimes 
that  are  found  in  the  mass  of  the  community  ? 
They  are  necessarily  vicious,  yet  the  circum- 
stances of  society  require  that  they  should  be 
punished.  And  all  this  collection  of  miseries 
and  crimes,  is  created  and  supported  by  the 
sickly  and  effeminate  refinement  of  a  few, who 
have  deserted  nature  and  sought  out  for  them- 
selvps  factitious  and  enerviiting  enjoyments,  at 
the  expense  of  the  virtue  and  happiness  of  mil- 
lions of  their  species. 

Those  who  will  not  take  time  to  reflect,  may 
■suppose  that  we  exaggerate  when  we  affirm 
that  the  indigent  man  is  compelled  by  the  cir- 
•cumstances  of  his  situation  to  practise  con- 
tinual dissimulation.  He  dare  not,  he  cannot, 
approach  his  superior  with  the  easy  confidence 
.of  virtue.  He  must  not  speak  what  is  true,  but 
<what  he  supposes  will  be  agreeable.  His 
neighbor  is  rich  and  consequently  powerful ; 
lie  must  therefore,  as  far  as  he  is  able,  endeavor 
!to  countervail  this  ascendency,  by  flattery  and 
dissimulation.  He  asks  justice  as  a  favor,and 
fcegs  the  contemptible  pittance  he  receives 
for  his  labor  with  the  whining  tone  of  a  medi- 
«aDt 

There  is  no  object  in  nature  so  disgusting 
jis  to  see  one  man  crawling  to  and  fawning  on 
another.  We  may  pity  the  base  grovelling 
wretch,  but  we  must  and  do  despise  him. 
Can  this  creature  be  virtuous?  He  maybe 
.deterred  from  atrocious  crimes  by  the  terrors 


of  the  law ;  but  his  mind  is  necessarily  and 
radically  depraved. 

The  necessity  that  the  indigent  man  is  un- 
der, of  receiving  favors  from  the  hand  of  opu- 
lence,  humbles  and  enervates  his  mind.  One 
man  may  safely  receive  benefits  from  another 
if  he  have  it  in  his  power  to  make  a  suitable 
return;  but  the  moment  he  incurs  an  obliga- 
tion from  which  he  cannot  disengage  himself 
at  pleasure,  that  moment  he  becomes  a  slave. 
His  mind  is  brought  into  thraldom,  and  his 
soul  is  obliged  to  acknowledge  a  master.  The 
supposed  benefactor  may  insult  him  with  im- 
punity. He  can  turn  neither  to  the  right  hand 
nor  to  the  left  without  sullying  the  purity  of 
his  virtue.  If  he  should  resent  an  injury,  he 
is  ungrateful;  if  he  submit  in  silence,  it  is  im- 
puted to  baseness  and  cowardice  of  spirit. 
And  every  thing  poverty  receives  from  wealth 
is  accounted  a  favor.  If  we  lend  a  lich  man 
a  few  dollars,  it  is  considered  merely  as  an  act 
of  common  courtesy,  and  we  think  of  it  no 
more;  but  if  we  lend  half  the  sura  to  a  man 
who  is  in  want;  what  then?  Why  we  conceive 
that  we  lay  him  under  an  eternal  obligation  : 
and  should  he  ever  after  refuse  to  comply  with 
our  demands,  however  unjust  or  unreasonable, 
we  publish  to  the  world  his  baseness  and  in- 
gratitude, and  extol  to  the  skies  our  own 
humanity  and  beneficence. 

Should  an  indigent  neighbor  pass  through 
our  field  and  accidentally  do  some  slight 
damage  to  our  property  ;  if  we  do  not  prose, 
cute  him  for  a  trespass,  we  are  loud  in  the 
praise  of  our  own  lenity  and  forbearance:  but 
if  the  trespasser  be  opulent,  though  the  damage 
be  much  greater,  we  are  pleased  that  he  has 
presumed  upon  our  good  nature,  and  thank  him 
for  the  liberty  he  has  taken. 

Does  a  person  of  figure  and  genteel  address 
accost  us  in  the  street  and  desire  some  infor- 
mation concerning  a  neighboring  church  or 
other  public  building,  we  attend  to  his  requests 
with  the  utmost  complaisance,  and  are  highly 
gratified  that  he  should  think  us  worthy  to  be 
his  intelligencer ;  but  should  a  ragged  misera- 
ble mortal  have  the  assurance  to  make  the 
same  demand,  we  are  astonished  at  his  effron- 
tery, and  pass  ^lim  with  a  glance  of  the  most 
sovereign  contempt — or,  admitting  that  we  had 
just  risen  from  dinner,  where  we  had  eaten 
and  drunk  freely, and  consequently  w^ere  in  that 
happy  disposition  of  mind  which  renders  us 
averse  to  every  species  of  contention — if,  from 
all  these  causes,  we  should  re* urn  a  kindly  and 
condescending  answer,  we  wo\ild  admire  our 
own  politeness  and  urbanity,  and  conceive  the 
poor  devil  to  be  under  infinite  obligations  to 
our  good  nature. 

Now,  how  can  a  man  who  is  continually  re- 
ceiving favors,  and  feels  the  impossibility  of 
making  suitable  returns,  maintain  a  proper 
degree  of  self-respect  ?  And  the  man  who  has 
no  respect  for  himself  will  be  careless  in  the 
performance  of  duties  that  have  no  immediate 
connexion  with  his  Latex  est. 


THE  SAVAGE. 


81 


From  such  considerations  as  the  foregoing  The  Grave. 

we  deduce  the  conclusion,  that  the  progress  of  ,^,        ^. 

civilization  is  unfavorable  to  the  practice  of  When  Diogenes  was  about  to  die,  he  was 

virtue,  because  it  places  an  immense  majority  l^^^^   ^^^'^  ^''°"i4   ^  ,«^°"«  ^'^^1  '"s  body, 

of  the  human  race  in  a  situation  which  renders  ^  'V"  ^^""l"  P'^'^u     '1 1^  ^^  ''\'Jr^^  ""^^  ^^^  ^^^ 

them    incapable   of  virtuous   exertions-in   a  unburicd    in    the   fields.     "What."   said   his 

situation  where  they  are  almost  inevitably  com.  |"ends,  'shall  it  be  exposed _as  a  prey  to  the 


pelled  to  become  vicious. 

Justice. 


[  To  be  continued. 


We  have  somewhere  read  of  a  people  who 


birds  and  wild  beasts  ?"  "  Lay  a  staff  near 
me,"  replied  the  dying  philosopher,  "  with 
wh'ch  I  may  drive  them  away."  "How  can 
you  drive  them  away,"  demanded  his  friends, 
"  since  you  will  not  perceive  them  ?"     "  What 


asked  nothing,  in  their  prayers  to  the  gods,  but  harm  can  they  do   me,"  said  Diogenes,  "if 

justice.     In  this   they    appear  to   have  done  when  they  devour  my  flesh,  I  do  not  perceive 

wisely  :  for,  had  they  asked  for  any  thing  else,  it  ?" 

can  it  be  supposed  that  their  requests  would        If  Diogenes  cared  as  little  about  the  disposal 

have  been  granted  ?  of  his  body  after  death  as  his  words  indicate. 

Justice  is  the  perfection  of  virtue ;  it  may  he  had  divested  himself  of  a  very  general 
be  supposed  to  arise  from  the  relation  all  ere-  weakness ;  for  the  most  of  men  show  an  un- 
ated  beings  bear  to  each  other,  and  to  their  common  solicitude  on  this  subject.  Some  de- 
creator.  From  all  these  relations  there  origi-  sire  to  be  buned  in  consecrated  ground,  sup- 
nate  certain  rights  :  whoever  acts  in  confer-  posing,  no  doubt,  that  evil  spirits  will  be  afraid 
mity  with  these,  acts  justly  ;  but  whoever  to  disturb  them  within  the  precincts  of  the 
violates  them,  acts  unjustly.  sanctuary.  Possibly  they  desire  to  rest  among 

Ovid  says  that  the  goddess  of  justice  has  de-  the  saints,  that  they  may  have  good  company 

serted  the  earth  ;  and  we  believe  he  is  correct  in  the  grave ;  or  at  least  may  be  found  among 


the  righteous  at  the  general  resurrection.  We 
have  some  times  supposed  that  they  were  ap- 
prehensive that  they  might  be  overlooked  by 
the  eye  of  the  Etcnal,  at  the  great  day,  if  they 
were   deposited  in   any   other  place    than   a 


in  the  assertion : 

Virgo  cffide  madentes 

Ultima  coelestum  terres  Astroea  reliquit. 

However,  we  are  inclined  to  believe  that  she 

was  the/r«t,  and  not  the  last,  of  the  celestials  churchyard, 
who  deserted  the  earth  and  winged  their  flight        The  greater  part  of  mankind  express  a  wish 

to  the  etherial  regions.     One  thing  is  certain  to  be  buried  near   their  relations  or  friends, 

she  is  not  here.  This  desire  is  very  general,  and,  we  had  almost 

There  is  a  strange  Protean  being  who  has  said,  natural ;  but  the  man   who  has  experi- 

usurped  her  name,  but  possesses  none  of  her  enced  the  perfidy  of  friends  and  the  coldness  of 

qualities,  found  among  us.     This  pseudo-jus-  relations  would  rather  be  buried  in  the  desert 

tice  is  extremely  accommodating  to  the  weak-  or  cast   into   the   ocean.     The  ancient  Jews, 

nesses  and  passions,  but  most  of  all  to  the  in-  who  appear  to  have  had  very  faint  ideas  of  a 


terests,  of  men.  She  studies  what  will  be  ac- 
counted the  interest  of  a  nation,  or  of  an  indi- 
vidual; and  she  says  to  that  nation,  or  that  indi- 
vidual, this  is  justice.      There  is  one  thing 


future  state,  found  a  strange  consolation  in 
going  down  to  the  grave  in  peace  and  sleeping 
with  their  fathers. 

Socrates  declared  it  to  be  a  matter  of  indiffer- 


observable  in  her  conduct:  she  aJways  adheres  ence  to  him  how  they  disposed  of  his  body. 
to  the  stronger  side.  She  is  a  friend  to  good  Another  philosopher,  being  told  in  a  tbreaten- 
order  and  regular  government  as  long  as  go-  ing  tone  by  a  tyrant,  that  he  should  remain 
vernment  is  able  to  support  itself ;  but  the  mo.  unburied,  replied,  "Fool!  do  you suppiose  that 
ment  that  its  weakness  is  discovered,  she  I  care  whether  this  body  rot  above  ground  or 
ranges  herself  on  the  side  of  anarchy  and  con-  below  ?"  Reason,  indeed,  informs  us  all,  that 
fusion.  She  assisted  at  the  massacre  of  the  it  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence  what  becomes 
whites  in  St.  Domingo,  and  is  an  advocate  for  of  the  body  when  the  spirit  has  departed  ;  but 
the  slave  trade  in  Jamaica.  In  Russia  she  we  have  been  so  long  in  the  habit  of  connect- 
speaks  in  favor  of  despotism ;  in  England  she  ing  life  and  feeling  with  the  human  frame,  that 
advocates  the  dominion  of  the  seas;  and  in  we  can  hardly  be  led  to  suppose  that  the  carcass 
France  she  brings  the  crowns  of  the  sove-  is  totally  destitute  of  sensation.  The  custom 
reigns  of  Europe  and  lays  them  at  the  feet  of  of  digging  a  deep  pit  for  the  reception  of  the 
Napoleon.  She  is  a  nice  observer  of  times,  dead,  and  leaving  them  as  a  prey  for  worms 
places  and  circumstance-?.  She  is  a  mahome^and  corruption  is  excessively  disagreeable  :  the 
tan,  av  christian,  a  pagan,  a  catholic,  a  protes-  practice  of  burning  the  body  was  much  more 
tant,  a  royalist,  a  republican,  a  jacobin,  an  im-  decent,  and  had  not  a  tendency  to  awaken  so 
perialist,  as  the  power  shifts  from  the  hands  many  gloomy  and  loathsome  ideas.  The  urn 
of  one  party  to  those  of  the  other.  She  wor-  containing  the  ashes  of  a  deceased  relative 
ships  the  rising  sun,  observes  the  course  of  might  be  deposited  in  our  chamber  to  remind 
the  wind,  and  was  never  known  to  row  against  us  continually  of  the  virtues  of  the  departed, 
tk«  tide.  and  of  the  friendship  that  had  sub  sistcd  betwe«a 


82 


THE  SAVAGK 


uj    Who  would  not  rather  that  his  flesh  should  face  the  roarin»  cannon.    If  he  oonqtier,  he  is 

be  consumed  by   the  action   of  fire,  than  un-  despised;  if  he  die,  he  is/or^o«en. 
derTo an  abominable  fermentation  in  the  grave? 

WlTo  would  not  rather  his  body  should  be  puri.  Conversation. 
fled  by  the  flames,  than  bccomp  the  parent  and  When  five  or  six  men  are  together,  it  is 
the  nourishment  of  worms?  Who  would  not  curious  to  observe  the  anxiety  every  one  has 
rather  ascend  in  smoke  to  the  clouds,  th  in  be-  to  speak.  No  one  wishes  to  hear :  all  he  de- 
come  an  inhabitant  of  darkness  and  the  grave?  gires  is  an  auditor.  Rather  than  defer  telling 
Who  would  not  rather  be  scattered  by  the  four  their  respective  stories,  they  frequently  all 
winds  of  heaven  than  say  "  to  corruption  thou  speak  at  the  same  time, 
art  my  father  and  to  the  worm  thou  art  my        Every  one  has  a  subject  of  his  own  that  he 


wishes  to  introduce;  therefore  he  is  miserable 
until  he  has  an  opportunity  to  drag  it  in.  One 
is  desirous  to  discuss  some  religious  subject ; 
another  would  engage  in  a  political  disquisi- 
tion. One  would  talk  of  the  price  of  stocks ; 
and  another  would  expatiate  on  the  merits  of  a 
favorite  horse.  The  glass  circulates,  and  the 
confusion  becomes  general. 

The  Tower  of  Babel  would  bo  an  excellent 
sign  for  a  modern  tavern. 

THE  SAVAGE— NO.  VIL 
Happiness. 
Was  it  Plato  who  said  that  "  the  more  we 


aistcr  and  my  mother  ?" 

The  Slage  of  Life. 

One  poet  has  truly  said  that 

All  the  world's  a  staee, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players: 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances  ; 
And  one  man  in  his  lime  plays  many  parts,— 

And  another  has  said,  in  an  imperative  style, 

Act  well  your  part,  there  all  the  honor  lies. 
Does  he  mean  by  this  that  there   is  as  much 
honor  in  acting  well  in  an  inferior  stition  as 
in  a  superior?     Pope  was  inspired,  no  doubt, 

^ind  thuretijro  we  miorht  expect  him   to  speak  live  for  others,  the  more  we  live  for  ourselves?" 
the  truth;  but  we  liave  read  of  "  an  evil  spirit  VViiethcr  it  were  Plato   or  another,  the  senti- 
•from  the  Lord,"  and  of  "  a  lying  spirit  in  the  ment  appears  to  be  founded  on  a  critical  ac- 
mouth  of  all  the  prophets,"  and  we  conclude  quaintance  with  human  nature.     Tliose  emo- 
that  Pope  must  have  been  troubled  by  one  or  tions  that  carry  us  out  of  ourselves  and  inter- 
both  of  these.  est  ns  in  the  concerns  of  others  are  productive 
We  agree  that  the  world  may  be  considered  of  infinitely  higher  degrees  of  happiness  than 
as  a  stage;  but  wc  deny  that  honor  is  to  be  any  personal  gratifications    can    possibly  be. 
gained   by  pcr:brming  well  an  inferior   part.  Those  affoctions  of  the  mind  which   are  do- 
He  who  enacts  a  principal  character,  if  he  sus-  nominated  benevolence  and  humanity  may  be 
tain  his  part  with  dignity  and  propriety,  may  considered  as  emanations  of  the  divine  nature, 
expect  to  be  rewarded  by  the  plaudits  of  the  They  make  us  forget,  in  a  moment,  all  those 
audience;  but  wlio  will  applaud  the  industrious  paltry  avocations  that   occupy  our   days  with 
ai.d  diligent  exertions  of  the  prompter,  scene,  labor  and  our  nights  with  thought.    They  sup- 
«hifier,   or    candle-snuffer  ?     The    actor   who  press  the  cold   calculations  of  prudenc,  the 
struts  his  hour    in    tiie   character  of  Othello,  gloomy  forebodings  of  care,  the  aspiring  me- 
Micbeth,  or   Richard    the  third,  receives    an  ditationsof  ambition, and  the  bewitching  delu- 
honorary  as  well  as  a  pecuniary  recompense;  sions  of  pleasure.     They  carry  us  away,  above 
but  the    call-boy   and   lamp  lighter,  however  the  clouds  of  mortality,  to  tiie  third  heaven  of 
perfect  in  their  parts,  can  gain  nothing  but  the  delisjht,  where  we  experience  pleasures  not  to 
stipulated    hire.     Sliould  any  ihincr  go  wrong  be  described,  and  joys  too  mighty  for  our  na- 
through    their    mismanagement,  they  may  be  ture.     We  breathe  the  air  of  the  celestial  re- 
salutcd  by  a  hiss;  but  the  thnndcring  voice  of  gions:  the   eartli  and    all   its    evils,   sickness, 
applause  never  awakens  their  love  of  glory,  or  pain,  sorrow,  and   death,  arc   forgotten.     The 
towards  the  punctual  discharge  of  their  servile  ccftasy  is  short:  but,  for  a  moment,  we  seem 
occupations.  to  have  found  what  has   been   so  long  and  so 
So  it  is  in  life:  an  Alexander  and  a  Ceasar,  a  earnestly    desired    by    men — happiness.     We 
Brutus  and  a  Cato,  a  Trajan  and  an  Antonine,  arc,  like  Moses,  in  tiie   "  ceft  of  the  rock" — 
perform  tiieir  parts  in  the  wide  theatre  of  the  tiie  glory  of  the  Lord  passes  by ;  and  we  get  a 
■world,  in  the  sight  of  admiring  nations,  wiio  glimpse   of  iis    brightness.     God   of  nature  ! 
are  ever   ready  to   raise  the  song  of  triumph  remove  thy  hand,  and  let  the  vision  destroy 
and  s  ng  lios,innas  to  the  great.     Wlio  would  us  ! 

not  be  a  hero,  when  encouraged  by  the  hopc^      Pcifect  happiness,  if  such   a  thing  be  de- 
of  !«u-ih  a  reward?     Who  would  not  press  foW  signed  for  man,  is  reserved  for  a  future  state, 

ward  in  the  r  jcc,  when  a  crown  of  glory  is  in  when  we   shall  be  put  in  possession    of  the 

view?     Who  would  not  encounter  death,  for  great  good— when  we  shall  forget  ourselves 

everlasting  fame  ?  in  the  contemplation  of  the  Author  of  our  ex- 

The  obscure  individual  can  havo  no  such  istence  ;  but  that  qualified  imperfect  kind  of 

motives.     He  is  compollod  to  tread  the  insan-  felicity,  which  we  are    permitted  to  taste,  in 

guiaed  field,  to  mount  the  deadly  breach,  and  this  feverish  state  of  existence,  seems  to  con- 


THE  SAVAGE. 


43 


*ist  in  the  exercise  of  the  benevolent  affections: 
»nd  we  are  led  to  conclude  with  the  author 
above  mentioned  that  "  the  more  we  live  for 
'Others,  the  more  we  live  for  ourselves." 

The  eirth  is  full  of  misery.  We  are  weary 
travellers  in  a  strange  land.  Our  path  is 
narrow,  and  we  are  grievously  incommoded  by 
the  thorns  and  briers  and  thistles  that  obstruct 
our  pissnfre. 

Thick  darkness  is  behind  us  :  we  know  not 
whence  wc  came. 

Heavy  clouds  hang'  over  us :  wc  are  appalled 
"by  the  voice  of  the  thunder  and  terrified  by 
the  g-|;ire  of  the  liofhtniig. 

We  hcnr,  on  ench  side,  the  noise  of  mighty 
waters,  the  howling  of  wild  heasts  in  the 
desert,  and  the  rushing  oF  tiie  bl;ist  through 
the  trees  of  the  forest.  Strange  forms  pass  by 
us.  The  air  is  troubled  with  meteors :  we 
cannot  understand  them.  We  are  mocked 
with  deceit'ul  appearances.  We  drink;  but 
our  thirst  is  not  allayed.  We  are  hun<rry  :  a 
tree  'fair  to  the  eyes' presents  its  tempting 
fruit :  we  seize  it  with  greediness,  and — chfw 
bitter  ashes.  We  are  desirous  of  repose :  a 
couch  of  roses  is  at  hand  ;  and  we  lie  down 
among  serpents.  As  we  proceed,  we  meet  an 
*'  angel  of  light"  who  holds  out  his  hand 
to  assist  us.  We  rejoice :  but  ere  we  are 
savare, 

black  he  stands  as  night, 

Fierce  as  ten  furies,  terrible  as  hell, 
And  shakes  a  dreadful  dart! 

We  stirt  back  with  horror  :  a  malignant  laugh 
is  heard  on  the  rigiit  hand  and  on  the  left, 
above  and  below.  Spirits  of  darkness  I  what 
would  ye  ? 

Before  us  there  Is  a  tremendous  precipice, 
to  wlii(fh  we  know  of  no  bottotn.  We  must 
make  the  drqadful  leap:  and  we  know  not 
whither  we  go. 

Such  is  the  situalinn  of  men.  They  are 
fellow  travellers  and  fellow  sufferers  in  this 
wilderness  which  we  have  attempted  faintly 
to  delineate.  What  can  alleviate  their  dis- 
tresses, or  lessen  their  diiiiculties  ?  What  can 
serve  as  a  balm  for  their  wounds,  or  an  opiate 
for  their  cares  ?  The  world  has  existed  many 
thousands  of  years.  One  generation  has  passed 
away,  and  another  has  sijceeeded.  They  have 
all  been  in  the  search  of  happiness.  What 
have  they  learned  from  the  wisdom  and  expe- 
rience of  ages?  We  should  suppose  tliat  by 
this  time  they  would  have  discovered  the  delu- 
sive nature  of  pleasure,  the  vanity  of  riches, 
and  the  misery  of  ambition.  Wc  should  have 
supposed  that  by  this  time  they  would  have 
discovered  that  the  tnorc  we  forget  ourselves 
and'hpcome  interested  for  others,  the  more  we 
promote  our  own  felicity.  They  have  the  same 
common  nature.  Their  hopes  and  their  fears 
are  the  same.  They  must  know  that  evils  are 
lessened  by  sympathy;  and  that  joy  is  height. 
ened  by  sharing  it  with  others  By  mutual 
assistance  they  might  smooth  the  rough  path 
of  life,  surmount  difHcuities,  and  avert  in-nu- 
E 


merable  dangers.  Why  then  should  they 
continue  to  delude,  afflict,  and  destroy  each 
other  ? 

"If  we  should  be  told,"  says  the  abbe  Barthe- 
leini,  "  that  two  strangers,  cast  by  chance  on  a 
desert  island,  had  found  in  the  society  of  each 
otJier  a  pleasure  which  indemnified  them  for 
being  secluded  from  the  rest  of  the  wirld  ;  if 
we  should  be  told  there  exists  a  family  entirely 
occupied  in  strengthening  the  ties  of  eonsan- 
guinity  by  the  bands  of  friendship;  if  we  should 
be  told  tint  there  exists,  in  some  corner  of  the 
earth,  a  people  who  know  no  other  law  than 
that  of  loving  each  other,  nor  any  other  crime 
than  that  of  being  wanting  in  mutual  affection; 
who  would  think  of  commiserating  the  lot  of 
the  two  shipwrecked  friends  ?  who  would  not 
wish  to  appertain  to  that  family?  who  would 
not  wish  to  tly  to  the  most  distant  clime  to 
join  that  happy  people?" 

If  we  may  be  permitted  tojudge  of  mankind 
from  our  own  feelings,  we  should  instantly 
conclude  that  there  is  not  one  man  in  ten 
thousand,  who  would  not  desert,  with  joy  ap- 
proaciiing  to  rapture,  the  pleasures  and  amuse- 
ments of  the  world,  and  all  the  gay  dreams  of 
ambition,  to  appertain  to  such  a  family,  or  to 
"become  one  of  such  a  people.  If  this  be  lh« 
case,  it  proves  that  there  is  something  divine  in 
human  nature  which  would  point  out  the  path 
that  conducts  to  happiness.  To  what  then  are 
we  to  impute  those  artificial  miseries,  vices  and 
follies,  which  distress  and  debase  the  children 
of  men?  Why  should  these  creatures,  whom 
God  has  endowed  with  a  portion  of  the  divine 
mind,  which  is  sometimes  known  to  elevate 
them  above  all  sublunary  cares,  be  miserable 
from  generation  to  generation  ?  We  feel  con. 
fident  that  we  are  right  when  we  trace  the 
cause  to  those  barbarous  ins'titutions  of  civilized 
society  which  cramp,  brutalize  and  distort  the 
human  mind.  The  farther  men  have  strayed 
from  the  plain  pat,hs  of  nature,  the  more 
vicious  and  the  more  wretched  have  they  be- 
come. 

Nearly  all  the  evils  that  afflict  the  sons  of 
men  flow  from  one  source — wealth,  or  the  a.p~ 
propriation  of  things  to  individuals  and  to  so- 
cieties. I'ake  away  this  mother  curse  and  all 
its  cursed  progeny,  and  the  world  would  be, 
comparativel}'  speaking,  a  paradise! 

Modern  philosophers  talk  much  of  the  ad- 
vantages and  blessings  which  have  flowed 
from  commerce,  from  the  fine  arts,  from  the 
diffusion  of  knowledge.  They  carry  their  ideas 
forward  to  a  time,  when  man  will  be  refined, 
polished  and  enlightened  into  a  kind  of  terras- 
trial  God,  who  will  have  the  powers  of  nature 
at  his  command. 

One  of  these  future  sages  is  thus  described 
by  the  philosophic  author  of  the  Columbiad; 
but  we  are  apprehensive  that  there  is  more 
poetry  in  the  passage  than  any  thing  else. 

The  sage  with  steadier  lights  directs  his  ken, 
Through  twofold  nature  leads  the  walks  of  men. 
Remoulds  her  moral  and  material  frames, 


84 


THE  SAVAGE. 


Their  mutual  aids,  their  sister  laws  proclaims. 
Disease  before  him  with  iu  causes  flies 
And  boasts  no  more  of  sicklv  soils  and  skies; 
His  well  proved  codes  the  healing  science  aid, 
Its  base  establish  and  its  blessings  spread. 
With  long  wrought  life  to  teach  the  race  to  glow, 
And  vigorous  nerves  to  grace  the  locks  of  snow. 

From  every  shape  thai  varying  matter  gives. 
That  rests  or  ripens,  vegetates  or  lives, 
His  chemic  powers  new  combinations  plan, 
Yield  new  creations,  finer  forms  to  man, 
Higii  springs  of  health  for  mind  and  body  trace. 
Add  force  and  beauty  to  the  joyous  race. 
Arm  with  new  engines  his  adventurous  hand. 
Stretch  o'er  these  elements  his  wide  command, 
Lay  the  proud  storm  submissive  at  his  feet. 
Change,  temper,  lame  all  subterranean  heat, 
Probe  laboring  earth  and  drag  from  herdark  side 
The  young  Volcano,  ere  his  voice  be  tried  ; 
Walk  under  ocean,  ride  the  buoyant  air, 
Brew  the  soft  shower,  the  labored  land  repair, 
A  fruitful  soil  o'er  sandy  deserts  spread 
And  clothe  with  culture  every  mountain's  head. 
Columb.  b.  10. 

These  same  philosophers,  when  they  look 
back  to  the  early  apes,  find  man  a  miserable 
forlorn  and  wretched  being',  exposed  to  every 
misfortune  and  addicted  to  every  vice. 

—  Frail  at  first  his  frame,with  nerves  ill  strung 
Unformed  his  tootsteps,  long  untoned  his  tongue. 
Unhappy,  unassociate,  unrefined, 
Unfledged  the  pinions  of  his  lofty  mind. 
He  wandered  wild,  lo  every  beast  a  prey, 
More  prest  with  wants  and  feebler  far  than  they ; 
For  countless  ages  forced  from  place  to  place. 
Just  reproduced  but  scarce  preserved  his  race. 
Columb.  b.  10. 

We  also  can  philosophize;  but  oars  is  a 
tavage philosophy.  When  we  permit  our  fancy 
to  carry  us  back  to  the  beginning  of  time,  we 
think  we  can  discover  the  golden  age  of  the 
poets.  Our  savage  reason  makes  the  best  use 
it  can  of  those  glimmering  lights  that  sparkle 
through  the  long  night  of  antiquity  ;  and  we 
discover,  or  think  we  discover,  a  hardy  race  of 
long-lived  savages,  who  gathered  the  fruits  of 
the  earth  in  peace,  and  placed  their  happiness 
in  mutual  love.  We  do  not  think  it  unreasona- 
ble to  suppose  that  there  may  have  been  a  time 
resembling  that  described  by  Ovid. 

Aurea  prima  sata  est  aetas,  quae,  vindice  nullo, 
Sponte  sua,  sine  lege,  fidem  rectumque  colebat. 
Pcena  metusque  aberant:  nee  vincla  minacia  coUo 
iEre  ligabaniur:  nccsupplex  turba  timebat 
Judicis  ora  sui :  sed  erant  sine  judice  tuti. 
Nondum  ccesa  suis,  perigrinum  ut  viseret  orbem, 
Montibus,  in  liquidas  pinus  descenderat  undns: 
Nu.laque  mortales,  prseter  sua,  littora  norant. 
Nondum  prsecipites  ringebant  oppida  fosate: 
Non  tuba  diracti,  non  aeris  cornua  flexi, 
Non  gale»,  non  ensii  erat :  sine  militis  usu 
MoUia  iecurte  peragebant  otia  gentes. 

And  though  the  time  may  never  have  been 
^  I  when  "rivers  of  milk  and  rivers  of  nectar" 
..flowed  through  the  plain,  in  any  other  way 
than  the  land  of  Canaan  flowed  with  milk  and 
honey ;  yet,  if  ever  there  were  a  time  when 
men  had  not  commenced  the  business  of  accu* 
uolation ;  if  ever  there  were  a  time  when  the 


earth  and  its  fruits  were  common,  when  men 
were  uninstructed  in  the  science  of  hoarding- 
thai  time  was  a  golden  age. 

It  is  a  tradition  common  to  all  nations,  of 
which  we  have  any  knowl'^dge,  that  these 
golden  days  have  been:  how,  if  it  be  not  founded 
on  fact,  did  this  tradition  originate?  I'oets 
may  invent :  but  how  came  the  poets  of  all 
nations  to  invent  the  same  story?  iThe  flowery 
fictions  of  the  muses  may  compose  a  part  of 
the  body  of  the  tale ;  but  we  feel  inclined  to 
believe  that  there  are  certain  stamina  of  fact, 
which  are  common  to  the  traditions  of  all  the 
different  nations. 

The  Indian  sage  mourns  over  the  depravity 
of  his  nation,  and  speaks  with  regret  of  the 
tiays  of  brotherly  love  that  are  past :  the  days 
when  a  poition  of  the  holy  fire  warmed  the 
breast  of  every  warrior,  and  the  beloved  speech 
was  in  the  mouth  of  every  prophet. 

The  account  given  by  Moses,  of  the  early 
ages,  corroborates  our  ideas  on  this  subject. 
He  docs  not  describe  those  antediluvian  pa. 
triarchs  as  weak  timid  miserable  mortals,  with 
bodies  frail,  and  "nerves  ill  strung."  No  :  we 
conceive  that  Cainaii,  Mahaleel,  Jared,  and 
Methuselah  must  have  exceeded  the  men  of 
the  present  day  as  much  in  bodily  strength  as 
they  did  in  the  number  of  their  years. 

It  is  also  a  tradition  common  to  all  nations 
that  in  former  days  there  were  giants  upon 
the  earth  :  such  was  the  opinion  of  the  Greeks 
and  Romans:  and  such  was  the  opinion  of  the 
Jews.  And  it  was  also  the  opinion  of  the  ar>> 
cienfs  that  their  heroes  or  mighty  men  were 
descended  from  the  gods:  and  this  notion  seems 
not  to  have  been  peculiar  to  the  Greeks  and 
Romans ;  for  Moses,  if  we  understand  him 
aright,  gives  it  the  weight  of  his  testimony 
when  he  says,  "the  sons  of  God  saw  the 
daughters  of  men  that  they  were  fair;  and 
they  took  them  wives  of  all  which  they  chose. 
.  .  .  Theie  were  giants  in  the  earth  in  these 
days :  and  also,  after  that,  when  the  sons  of 
God  came  in  unto  the  daughters  of  men,  and 
they  bare  children  to  them,  the  same  became 
mighty  men  which  were  of  old  men  of  renown.'' 
In  fine,  guided  by  the  feeble  lights  that  anti- 
quity affords,  and  by  our  own  observation  of 
the  enervating  nature  of  luxury,  we  give  it  as 
our  candid  opinion,  that  the  men  of  the  early 
ages  were  infinitely  superior  to  those  of  the 
present  day.  They  might  worship  the  sun 
and  moon  and  hear  the  voice  of  God  in  the 
thunder ;  but  there  is  no  reason  to  .suppose  that 
they  trembled  in  the  presence  of  the  lion,  or 
dreaded  the  approach  of  the  tiger.  No :  it  is 
owing  to  civilization,  luxury,  and  refinement, 
that  they  are  become  inferior,  in  bodily  im- 
portance, to  the  beasts  of  the  desert;  that  they 
find  it  necessary  to  have  recourse  to  the  mean 
arts  of  cunning  and  dissimulation  in  all  their 
enterprises  against  the  brutal  creation. 

We  should  be  happy  to  look  forward,  to  the 
blissful  period  which  is  beautifully  described 
by  the  philosophic  poet : 


THE  SAVAGE 


95 


Green  swell  the  mountaina,  calm  the  oceans  roll, 
Fresh  beams  of  b«auty  kindle  round  the  pole  ; 
Through  all  the  range  where  shores  and  seas  ex* 

tend, 
in  tenfold  pomp  the  works  of  peace  ascend. 
Robed  in  the  bloom  of  spring's  eternal  year. 
And  ripe  with  fruits  the  same  glad  fields  appear; 
O'er  hills  and  vales  perennial  gardens  run. 
Cities  un walled  stand  sparkling  to  the  sun; 
The  streams  ail  freighted  from  the  bounteous 

plain 
Swell  With  the  load  and  labor  to  the  main. 

Columb.  b.  10. 

Bat,  as  we  are  no  poet,  when  we  would  dart 
forward  on  the  wings  of  our  imag^ination,  our 
flight  is  impeded  by  certain  prosaic  obstacles, 
which  we  find  it  difficult  to  remove.  If  we 
miderstand  the  poet  ricrhtly,  all  this  happiness 
is  to  be  brought  about  by  the  operation  of  com- 
merce, civilization,  refinement,  &c.  but  we 
have  already  proved  that  the  tendency  of  these 
things  is  to  produce  luxury,  co'ruption,  vice, 
and  misery.  Here  we  are  at  a  full  stand.  The 
foundation  of  the  building  is  gone :  and  the 
superstructure  must  dissolve  into  thin  air. 

Ill  this  future  world  of  blessedness,  which  is 
so  elegantly  delineated,  we  find  that  men  are 
to  dwell  in  palaces :  now,  whenever  men  in- 
habit  palaces,  they  must  have  slives,  drudges, 
brutal  bipeds,  to  support  their  dignity.  And 
as  the  poet  raises,  to  "tenfold  pomp,"  the  gay 
description,  our  savage  eye  discovers  new 
scenes  of  misery  and  wide  extended  wretched- 
ness ! 

Cities  unwalled  stand  sparkling  to  the  sun : 

A  pleasant  sight  truly!  but  in  our  mind  it 
awakens  disagreeable  ideas.  We  overlook  the 
sparkling  walls  and  glittering  roofs,and  inquire 
for  the  labor  which  created  and  sustains  this 
extravagant  splendor.  Where  are  the  crowds 
of  menials,  who  wait  on  the  luxurious  philoso- 
phers ?  and  where  are  the  drudges  who  clean 
out  the  receptacles  of  filth  ?  Who  are  to  be 
*'  hewprs  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water"  in 
these  New  Jerusalems  of  the  bard's  imagina- 
tion? 

Whenever  we  see,  in  any  private  edifice, 
productions  of  labor  too  great  for  the  exertion 
of  one  man,  ice  may  safely  say.  Here  has  bekn 
SLAVERY :  here  one  man  has  exercised  an  undue 
ascendency  over  another.  Here  has  been  super. 
Jluity  on  owe  side,  and  want  on  the  other:  power 
and  subjection.  This  is  the  generation  of 
misery.  POWER  begat  SLAVERY;  aud 
slavery  begat  vice ;  and  vice  begat  misery. 

Plato  in  his  republic  pays  no  attention  to 
the  multitude ;  he  devoted  all  his  attention  to 
the  formation  of  a  body  of  sages  and  of  war- 
riors ^  keep  the  common  herd  in  order:  is 
that  the  plan  of  our  modern  philosophers? 

The  traveller,  who  examines  the  pyramids  of 
Egypt,  is  at  first  view  struck  with  astonish- 
ment at  the  stupendous  exertions  of  man  ;  but 
the  next  moment  is  imbittered  with  reflections 
•n  the  miseries  and  distresses  of  humanity. 
Thousands  must  have  toiled,"  says  the  ma- 


lancholy  stranger,  "thousands  mast  hare  toiled, 
under  the  iron  rod  of  arbitrary  power,  to  erect 
these  splendid  monuments  of  ambition  and 
folly."  The  magnificent  edifice  which  Ih© 
muse  of  the  author  of  the  Columbiad  has  erect* 
ed  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  to  receive  the 
"  delegated  sires"  of  all  nations,  awakens  in 
our  mind  no  other  idea,  than  that  of  the  labor 
and  fatigue  it  must  have  taken  to  hew  so  much 
marble. 

A  spacious  dome  swells  up  commodious  great. 

The  last  resort,  the  unchanging  scene  of  state. 

On  rocks  of  adamant  the  walls  ascend. 

Tall  columns  heave  and  skylike  arches  bend ; 

Bright  o'er  the  golden  roofs,  the  glittering  spiree 

Far  in  the  concave  meet  the  solar  fires. 

Four  blazing  fronts,  with  gates  unfolding  high. 

Look  with  immortal  splendor  round  the  sky. 

Columb.  b.  10. 

One  would  have  supposed  that  by  this  time 
men  would  have  been  so  civilized  as  to  find  no 
necessity  for  legislators  or  laws  ; — but  we  had 
forgot  that  laws  and  legislators,  crimes  and 
punishments,  must  increase  with  increasing 
civilization.  One  would  have  supposed  that  by 
this  time,  men,  having  discovered  all  the  secrets 
of  nature,  would  have  found  buildings  a  use- 
less incumbrance  on  the  earth ; — but  we  had 
forgot  that  the  intention  of  poetry  is  to  amuie 
and  not  to  instruct.  [  To  be  catUinued, 

Apologetical. 

The  ancient  Greeks,  in  the  pride  of  their 
souls,  denominated  all  the  nations  of  the  earth, 
but  themselves,  barbarians;  and  this  name 
they  often  bestowed  on  people  farther  advanced 
in  the  career  of  refinement  and  civilization 
than  were  the  Greeks.  It  is  likewise  the  cus« 
tom  of  polished  nations,  at  this  day,  to  stigma* 
tize,  every  people  whose  language  they  do  not 
understand,  and  whose  manners  they  will  not 
study,  with  the  degrading  names  of  bo^rbarian$ 
and  savages.  We  are  not  displeased  with  the 
names:  whether  they  be  descriptive  of  our 
customs,  or  meant  merely  as  a  mark  of  dis> 
tinction  between  you  and  us,  we  are  satisfied. 

We  cannot  help,  however,  remarking  that 
you  appear  to  consider  the  word  savage  as  a 
name  of  the  greatest  reproach.  Is  a  man  in. 
human,  wicked  or  cruel ;  you  seem  to  imagine 
that  you  give  him  an  appropriate  designation 
when  you  call  him  a  ravage.  Now,  you  will 
doubtless  excuse  us  if  we  follow  your  plan  so 
far  as  to  make  the  same  use  of  the  word  civil' 
ized  that  you  do  of  savage.  When  we  wish 
to  give  a  suitable  appellation  to  a  corrupt  and 
degenerate  people,  we  will  call  them  civilized. 
When  we  wish  to  designate  one  who  practises 
cunning,  dissimulation,  falsehood,  treachery, 
we  will  call  him  civilized.  We  are  not,  then, 
the  least  offended  at  the  abusive  epithets  which 
you  bestow  on  us  and  our  nation;  and  we 
hope  that  you  will  not  deny  us  the  privilege  of 
pointing  out  those  errors,  vices,  and  absurdi. 
ties,  that  flow  from  your  habits  and  institu* 
tions. 


85 


THE  SAVAGE, 


The  Man  of  the  World.  proper  mnnagement,  every  wind  thnt  blows. 

We  have  collected   a   few   maxims  which  whether  "nirs  from  heaven  or  bla.ts  from  hell," 

mav  be  found  useful,  by  a  youth  who  i.itends  may  be    nined  to  his  own  advj,ntaao 

tTmake  a  fi.ure  h.  1  fef  when  we  find  leisure  ^  iff  ''i'  ^-"'  "^tes,  O  ch.ld  o    c.v.h.at.on 

o^  tend  a^d   methodize  our  ideas   on   this  by  these   means  you   mayr.se  to  e-n  n  nre: 

subject  we  intend  to  publish  a  treatise  which  a"d  your  name  shall  go  down   with   eclat  to 

Ihal   be  entitled    the  man  of   the   wokld's  posterity      These    are   the    .rts,   as    a    pohio 

■nail   oe  enuticu    lut  writer  of  your  own  weU  observes,  which  give 

"'H?m«st  always  wear  a  smooth  exterior,  and  the  man  of  the  world  an  ascendency  over  the 
conceal  his  -eal  sentiments  behind  a  mask  of  hrutal  force  of  the  barb.nan 
impenetrable  dissimulation.  He  must  make  I"  he  prosecution  of  our  plan,  we  sj""  t..k° 
Xe  most  extravagant  professions  of  love  and  care  to  produce  n-  mnxnns  Init  such  as  we 
itLhmeiit,  \v",ilf  hatr'ed  and  malignity  arc  -"  support  by  pointed  nuthorUies  from  tlie 
rankling  in  his  heart.  He  must  bend  the  knee  ethics  of  the  civilized  world, 
of  submission  to  the  arrogance  of  power;  and  ^ 

feed  wiih  never-ceasing   adulation    the  weak  toalics. 

vanity  of  fools.     He    must   resolutely  dismiss      '  O'lr  savage  education  and  barbarous  prcpos. 
every  linaerin<r  attachment  to  virtue,  as  .m  in-    sessions   having  giv.  n    us  »n    nnconqnerjihla 
cumbrance  incompatible    with   the   nature   of   aversion  to  every  species  of  p.hf.cal  intngno 
hi-!  pursuits      He  will  find  the  appearance  of    and  tcrgivrrsation,  we  felt  it  incumbent om  us, 
justice,  benevolence,  mercy,  and  candor,  occa-    i"   our  prelimmary  address,  to  announce  to 
sionally  uselul ;  but  he  mast  take  care  not  to    the  public  that       Piomiiigo  was  no  federalist, 
clotr  himself  with  this  antiquated  rubbish,  m    no   republican,  no  democrat,  no   aristocrat,  in 
reaZt<v  it  would  prove  an  insuperable  obstacle    the    common    acceptation   of    those  terms  : 
to  his  refined  operations,  and,  in  the  end,  prove    and  >"   this  declaration  we  were   guided  by  a 
the  means  of  his  destruction.     He  mnsl  appear    strict  regard  to  truth,  which  (notwithstanding- 
to  be  an  enemy  to   injustice,  cruelty  and  dis-    our  intercourse  with  civilized  man)  we  always 
simulation  •  but  he  must  remember  to  be  pos-    have  cherished,  and  shall  continue  to  cherish, 
eessed    of  these    vices,  in  fact:  he   will   find    as  long  as  the  Master  of  our  breath  shall  per- 
them  instruments  absolutely  necesssary  in  the    niit  us  to   continue  on  the  earth.     We  were 
furtherance  of  his  plans.     If  he  should  receive    however  aware,  at  the  same   time,  that  wc 
favors  it  will  be  judicious  to  make  professions    were  renouncing  a  subject  which  would  h.-.ve 
of  the  most  unbomided  gratitude;  but  he  must    given  life  and   spirit  to  our  miscellany      Had 
observe   that   his  gratitude  be   merely  piofes-    we    engaged    in    political  warfare    under    the 
eional  •  for  otherwise  it  might  become  greatly    banners  of  some  party  already  established,  or  set 
nreiudiciarto  his  personal  interests.     He  may    "P  a  party  of  our  own,  (in  that  ease,  we  should 
affect  to  be  a  wann  and  disinterested   friend ;    soon  have  heard    of  Muscogulgee  influence) 
but  he  must  he  at  all  times  ready  to  sacrifice    we  might,  if   we   do  not   overrate  oui    own 
his  friendship  when  it  comes   in  competition    abilities,  have  made  considerable  noise  in  the 
with  the  success  of  his  schemes     He   must    world.     Had  such  been  our  conduct,  we  have 
put  confidence  in  none,  but  live  with  his  friend    no  donbt  but  that  the  fate  of  our  paper  would 
under  the  expectation  of  that  friend  becoming    have  been    different.     What  is   now    a   poor 
one  day  his  enemy.     He  must  on  no  occasion    sickly  bantling,   might   have   been  antmosus 
express  the  resentment  he  may  feel ,-  but  meet    »">"»  contending  with  serpents  m  its  cradle, 
his  enemy  with  every  appearance  of  respect,    That  which   will,  under  the  present  circum- 
under  the  idea  that  the  time  may  come  when,    stances,  support  a  feeble  existence  for  a  short 
his  enemy's  interest  and   his  own  being  the    time,  and  die  without  a  groan,  might  have  en. 
Bame,  they  may  act  together  as  friends.     He   joyed    a   long  life  of  honor    and    prosperity, 
mu^t  practise  every  vice,  and  descend  to  every    And,  who  can  tell  but  we  might  have  written 
species  of  meanness,  that  he  may  find  useful    our  savage   self  into  some   post  of  honor,  or 
in  the  progress  of  his  operations ;  but  these    (which  would  have  been  still  better)  of  profit, 
things  must  be  transacted  as  much  as  possible    The  papers,   in  opposition    to   the   party  we 
in  the  shade.     He  must  assume  the   garb  of  n''?ht  have  espouseo,  would,  no  doubt,  ha\e 
piety :  beneath  the  snowy  mantle  of  religion    raised  a  devil  (this  word  devil  is  very  useful 
he  may  erect   a  kennel  for  the  hellhounds  of   in  swelling  out  a  period)  of  a  noise  about  ap- 
■vice,  and  a  harbor  for  the  monsters  of  iniquity,    pointing  a  foreigner  to  an  office  of  such  great 
He  must  have  honor  continually  in  his  mouth;    importance;  (and   we   should    not  have   been 
but  his  honor  must  be  vox  et  prater ea  nihil,    disposed  to  have  accepted  an  indifferent  situa. 
He  must  form  a  just  estimate   of  the   vices,    tion)  but  we  should  have  been  ready  to  have 
iveaknesses  and  ruling  passions  of  his  associ-    replied  to  that  charge,  by  deelarhig  that  we 
•fes,  and  make  all  these  things  instrumental    were  no  foreigner,  but  an  indigenous  American 
to  his  own  advancement.  descended  from  the  great  Mingo  Pa-Ya  Ma. 

He  mustkeep  his  head  clear,  and  his  heart   ta^a,  and  therefore  could  not  be  supposed  to 
g„lj_  be  under  the  influence  of  any  improper  preju. 

His  own  interest  must  be  his  polar  star  to    dice  for  or  against  either  of  the  mighty  belliger- 
raid*  him  in  his  voyage  through  life  :  and  by    ^nts  of  Europe  who  divide  the  world  betweeB 

th«xa. 


THE  SAVAGE. 


«7 


We  slionld  have  been  able  to  have  said  so 
many  keen  things  about  the  principles  and 
practices  oF  our  politic:il  upponents  th-it  our 
SiViige  would  have  been  uni vers  illy  read  ;  and 
thei,  under  the  mask  of  patriotism  we  miffht 
have  indulofed  onr  propensity  for  sl.indcr.  We 
iniirht  hnve  collected  nil  tlje  old  stories  that 
h;ive  appenred  in  the  papers  for  tn any  years, 
which,  h  ivinir  been  retouched  by  our  satirical 
poneil,  iind  a  liltle  Tresh  colorin^j  added  by  our 
skillil  hind,  would  h  ive  been  evacllv  to  the 
tasteofour  newsp  ipcr  connoisseurs.  We  mitrht 
have  become  verv  faniiliir  with  the  names  of 
prent  men,  and  abused  most  outra^enu^'y  those 
whom  we  hnd  never  seen.  Wo  mi^ht  have 
published  extrncts  of  letters  from  "  srentlemcn 
of  ttie  first  respect ibility,  now  in  Europe,"  or 
from  "  jrentlemen  hi^'h  in  office,"  or  from 
"  g[-entlemen  in  the  confidence  of  govcrn- 
menl." 

A  friend  of  ours  appeared  to  be  extremely 
solicitous  that  we  should  enjraire  in  politics. 
We  told  bim  Ihat,  Gallio  like,  we  'cared  for 
none  of  those  thingfs.'  "So  mucli  the  better," 
said  he,  "so  much  the  better;  if  you  be  not 
tied  by  political  principles,  you  are  at  liberty 
to  choose  the  party  from  which  you  may  ex- 
pect to  derive  the  most  jirofit."  We  told  him 
that  he  was  airiiu  mistaken  ;  that  we  were  not 
so  totnlly  destitute  of  observation,  as  not  to 
form  an  opinion  on  passing'  occurrences  ;  but 
that  the  intricrae,  turpitude,  and  dereliction  of 
principle,  whicli  were  discoverable  in  political 
concerns,  had  gfiven  us  such  a  distaste  to  the 
subject,  that  the  very  name  had  become  odious 
to  us.  We  further  added  that  when  a  man 
enters  the  fields  of  political  warfare  under  the 
banners  of  a  party,  he  must  give  up  all  preten- 
siotis  to  independency  of  sentiment.  He  must 
pass  on  to  the  very  extremes  of  rancor  and 
animosity,  otherwise  he  will  be  rejected  as 
lukewarm,  and  become  utteiJy  contemptilde. 
He  must  oppose  all  the  measures  of  the  party 
in  opposition  to  his  own,  whether  he  deem 
them,  in  his  private  opinion,  to  be  salutary  or 
pernicious.  He  must  support,  totis  viribus, 
every  measure  of  his  political  friends  even 
though  he  himself  may  suppose  them  to  be  in- 
judicious  and  wicked.  Men  whom  he  knows 
not,  he  must  panegyrize  ;  and  men  whom  he 
knows  not,  he  must  condemn.  Nor  is  that  all ; 
he  must  sing  the  praises  of  those  whom  he 
despises;  and  vilify  those  who  stand  high  in 
his  estimation.  Should  he,  for  a  moment,  in 
the  vanity  of  his  soul,  conceive  that  he  guides 
the  political  machine,  it  will  only  add  to  the 
bitterness  of  iiis  subsequent  mortification, when 
he  finds  that  he  has  prostituted  the  noblest 
faculties  of  his  soul,  for  the  convenienoe  of  an 
unprmcipled  intriguer.  Moreover,  it  is  dan- 
gerous to  bestow  extravagant  encomiums  on 
any  man  during  his  life ;  but  let  bim  be  once 
fairly  dead,  and  we  may  commend  him  with 
safety  :  it  is  out  of  his  power  to  prove  us  a  liar 
by  the  villany  of  his  conduct.  U  is  also  un. 
generous  and  unjust  to  condemn  a  man  too 


hastily.  We  have  not  perhaps  a  view  of  tho 
whole  ground ;  and  we  may  not  be  able  to 
judge  of  the  motives  which  may  have  induced 
him  to  pursue  a  certain  line  of  condiict  In 
fine,  we  observed,  we  should  not  1;^  ashamed,' 
did  necessity  require  it,  to  dig  for  our  sub- 
sistence; but  the  nobler  facilities  of  our  mind 
we  never  would  deb.ise  .so  far  as  to  devote  them 
to  the  promotion  of  the  views  of  any  man  or 
set  of  men. 

"  All  this  may  be  very  true,"  said  our  friend,, 
"but  it  is  verv  silly.  There  .is  such  a  thing 
as  a  wheel  within  a  wheel.  By  professing  an 
attnchment  to  the  puhlie  welfare  and  prorHO- 
ting  the  views  of  your  political  friends,  you 
may  substantially  serve  yourself.  You  are 
now  in  a  civilized  country,  and  must  learn  to 
act  a  little  like  the  rest  of  the  world.  Politics 
is  the  only  thing  that  pleases  the  taste  of  the 
present  generation  :  and  even  that  will  not  go 
down  unless  it  be  rendered  palatai.le  by  a  little 
spicery.  Nothing  pleases  a  man  so  much  as 
to  hear  of  the  miscarriages  of  his  fellow  man. 
He  appears  to  lise  in  the  same  proportion  that 
another  is  degraded.  You  must  attack  some 
eminent  person  ;  it  is  immaterial  whethei  he 
be  one  of  those  in  power,  or  one  of  those  who 
wish  to  be  in  power:  that  is  left  to  your  dis- 
cretion. Or,  if  you  had  rather,  you  may  let 
our  domestic  aff.iirs  alone  for  a  while,  and 
plunge  into  the  polities  of  Europe.  You  may 
assist  Bonaparte  to  regulate  the  affairs  of  the 
continent,  or  take  on  yourself  the  management 
of  the  English  fleet — Suppose  you  were  to- 
write  a  series  of  essays  to  prove  that  Napoleon 
is  the  'beast  with  seven  heads  and  ten  horns,' 
mentioned  in  the  Revelation.  You  might  com. 
ment  at  large  upon  'the  heads  and  the  horns 
and  the  crowns  that  are  upon  the  horns.'" 

We  observed,  in  reply  to  the  last  observation 
of  our  anxious  friend,  that  so  many  commenta- 
ries had  been  written  on  the  Revelation  by 
dignified  divines  and  pious  laymen,  we  were 
apprehensive  that  nothing  new  could  be  eli- 
cited on  the  subject;  and  that  the  very  thing- 
he  now  recommended  to  our  consideration  had 
employed  many  learned  heads  and  ready  pen* 
several  years  ago. 

"Well  then,"  replied  he,  no'hing  abashed 
with  the  repulse  we  had  given  him,  "suppose 
you  prove  England  to  be  the  '  great  whore 
that  sitteth  upon  many  waters.'  Will  there 
not  be  something  new  in  that?" 

We  answered,  very  gravely,  that  we  would 
permit  France  and  England  to  manage  their 
own  affairs  :  that  we  were  not  disposed  to  con- 
cern ourselfwith  any  of  those  great  matters 
which  agitate  the  civilized  world  ;  and  that  we 
were  an  unambitious  unaspiring  mortal,  con- 
tent with  ease  and  tranquillity.  Our  friend 
said  he  perceived  that  we  were  headstrong  ia 
our  folly  ;  and  therefore  he  would  leave  us  tO' 
our  contemplations :  and  so  he  did. 

If  we  might  be  permitted  to  explain  your 
civilized  terms  in  our  own  savage  manner,  W9 


38 


THE  SAVAGE. 


should  have  no  objection  to  any  of  your  politi- 
cal  appellations. 

If  federalism  consist  in  a  sincere  attach- 
mciit  to  the  principles  contained  in  the  consti- 
tution of  the  United  States,  we  are  a  feder- 
alist. 

If  by  republicanism  be  meant  a  strict  ad- 
herence to  those  principles  which  promote  the 
public  weal,  we  are  a  n^publican. 

As  to  democracy — we  acknowledge  the  right 
ofthe  people  to  govern  themselves:  would  to 
Gild,  they  possessed  wisdom  enough  to  enable 
them  to  do  so  with  propriety  ! 

We  are  the  friend  of  aristocracy  ;  but  it  is 
that  species  of  aristocracy  which  is  to  be  found 
among  the  Indian  nations:  the  aristocracy  of 
virtue.  Our  mind  soars  far  above  the  petty 
distinctions  of  party.  We  can  trace  political 
prejudices  to  their  origin,  and  pity  the  weak- 
ness of  humanity.     

THE  SAVAGE— NO,  VIII. 
Happiness. 

We  have  endeavored  to  prove  that  happi- 
ness is  founded  on  virtue ;  and  that  savage 
nations  are  more  virtuous  than  those  that  are 
civilized.  If  this  be  done,  it  will  follow,  as  a 
direct  consequence,  that  those  in  a  state  of 
nature  are  happier  than  those  advanced  in  the 
career  of  luxury  and  refinement. 

That  man  who  is  either  raised  above,  or  de- 
pressed below,  his  species  cannot  be  happy. 
He  has  no  society.  There  are  none  to  whom 
he  can  communicate  his  thouglits :  who  can 
participate  in  his  sorrows  or  his  joys.  From 
this  consideration,  some  have  deduced  an  ar- 
gument in  favor  of  the  happiness  of  the  lower 
ranks  in  every  civilized  community.  "These 
men  have  many  companions,"  say  they,  "  why 
can  they  not  partake  of  those  pleasures  that 
arise  from  association  witli  their  fellews  ?" 
We  have  already  shown,  in  our  last  number, 
that  the  circum.^tances,  of  their  situation  are 
such  as  to  deprive  them  of  those  qualities  of 
the  mind  that  give  a  charm  to  the  social 
Btate. 

Some  of  your  divines  assert  that  the  damned 
in  hell,  will  have  a  full  prospect  of  the  blessed 
in  heaven.  This,  they  very  justly  allege,  will 
be  a  great  enhancement  of  the  punishment  of 
the  former ;  whether  or  no  they  suppose  it 
will  add  any  tiling  to  the  joys  ofthe  latter,  we 
cannot  tell. — Such  is  the  situation  of  the  indi- 
gent :  they  not  only  groan  beneath  the  pres- 
sure of  evil ;  but  they  have  the  additional 
mortification  of  beholding  their  fellow  men  in 
the  possession  of  good.  They  dare  not  dis- 
cover  the  malice  which  they  feel  against  their 
superiors;  but  they  let  loose  every  malignant 
passion  against  their  partners  in  misfortune. 
Thus  malefactors  in  a  dungeon  and  wild  beasts 
in  a  cage,  when  they  find  it  impossible  to  de- 
stroy  the  surrounding  crowd,  direct  their  ven- 
geance against  each  Cther,  and  even  against 
the  walls  of  their  prison. 

That  this  malignity  exists  in  the  multitude, 
wa  ue  certain ;  and  that  we  have  given  the 


true  cause  of  its  existence,  we  firmly  believe. 
If  any  one  be  disposed  to  contend  that  the 
crowd  do  not  cherish  these  ferocious  and  venge- 
ful  passions,  let  him  take  a  retrospective  view 
of  the  situation  of  France,  when  the  heavy 
hand  of  despotism  was  raised  from  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  degraded  time-serving  populace. 
Like  a  mighty  torrent,  long  confined  by  im- 
passablfi  barriers,  they  burst  forth  at  once,  and 
overwhplmed  the  fair  fields  of  society  with  the 
Waves  of  desolation.  No  longer  awed  by  the 
iron  rod  of  power,  they  gave  full  play  to  their 
long  compressed  but  never-dying  ferocity. 
Those  whom  yesterday  they  adored,  to-day 
were  the  objects  of  their  unrelenting  fury. 
Over  those,  to  whom  yesterday  they  cringed  as 
tiu'  most  obedient  of  slaves,  they  brandished, 
to-day,  tiie  bloody  poniard  of  destruction. 

Who  can  think  without  horror  of  the  atro- 
cities perpetrated  by  the  blacks  of  St.  Domingo? 
The  passions  of  hatred,  malignity,  and  re- 
venge,  so  long  nurtured  and  concealed  in  the 
bosoms  of  degraded  and  dissembling  men, 
bursting  forth,  spread  abroad  at  once  the  tre- 
mendous havoc  of  murder  and  devastation. 

Such  is  the  end  of  civilization.  However 
slow  may  be  its  progress,  and  whatever  course 
it  may  seem  to  pursue,  this  is  its  tremendeua 
conclusion  I  It  nourishes  a  volcano  in  its 
bosom.  It  places  the  ingredients,  with  chemi- 
cal skill,  deep  in  the  bowels  of  society. — 
Mountains  may  be  heaped  on  mountains  ;  but 
the  slumbering  fire  can  never  be  extinguished 
— every  age  adds  to  its  strength ;  and  the 
longer  the  awful  period  is  deferred,  the  more 
dreadful  will  be  the  explosion. 

Civilization  is  a  forced  state :  it  is  not  natu- 
ral for  one  man  to  bend,  cringe  and  creep  to 
another.  A  noble  spirit,  a  spirit  that  is  in- 
spired by  the  proud  dignity  of  virtue,  will 
bear  every  ev  1 — sickness,  pain,  confinement, 
death — rather  than  have  recourse  to  the  mean 
arts  of  the  sycophant;  but,  there  are  always 
those,  who,  willow  like,  will  yield  to  the  arro- 
gant requisitions  of  adventitious  superiority. 
Tiiere  are  always  those  who  will  kiss  the  rod 
ofthe  tyrant,  and  bend  the  neck  of  submissioa 
to  be  trampled  upon  by  the  feet  of  the  oppres- 
sor. There  are  always  those  who  will  sacri- 
fice  the  spirit  of  virtue  to  the  low  and  sordid 
interests  of  the  moment:  who  will  practise 
every  species  of  dissimulation  which  they  con. 
ceive  will  advance  their  interests  or  gratify 
their  propensities.  But  whenever  the  heavy 
hand  of  power  is  removed,  the  mind  of  the 
oppressed  flies  back  with  an  elastic  force,  pro- 
portioned  to  the  depth  of  its  degradation,  to 
occupy  its  original  situation,  and  to  tyrannize, 
in  its  turn,  over  those  whom  foitune  has  acci- 
dentally humbled.  The  appearances,  therefore 
of  servility,  which  arc  shown  by  indigent 
wretches  to  their  opulent  superiors,  are  almost 
always  accompanied  by  hatred  and  envy  ia 
exact  proportion  to  their  pretended  humility. 

What  happiness  can  be  expected  in  a  etate 
like  this:  where  there  is  continual  warfare  be. 


THE  SAVAGE. 


tween  the  snpcrior  and  inferior  members  of 
the  community  ?  and  where  the  debased  party, 
disappointed  in  their  wish  of  hurling  threats  of 
defiance  into  the  faces  of  their  oppressors,  vent 
their  malignity  against  each  other  ? 

Let  us  illustrate  this  subject  by  referring  to 
the  affairs  of  a  well  known  people. 

The  Jews,  for  many  centuries,  wore  the 
shackles  of  servitude.  They  were  oppressed 
by  the  Bibylonians,  Persians,  Greeks,  and 
Romans.  They  had  long  been  accounted  a 
proud  stiff-necked  and  arrogant  nation.  They 
rebelled  against  all  their  successive  masters, 
and  fought  with,  what  we  suppose  you  would 
call,  savage  ferocity  against  their  oppressors  ; 
but,  being  continually  subdued,  we  find  them 
at  last  sunk  into  a  stale  of  abject  servility. 
They  flattered  the  pride  of  th»  conquerors  of 
the  world  with  every  appearance  of  humility, 
and  proclaimed  to  the  world,  "  we  will  have  no 
king  but  Ccesar  I" 

Is  it  supposable  that  their  hatred  of  the  Ro 
mans  was  less  at  this  time  than  it  h\d  been  at 
any  farmer  period  ?  Not  at  all ;  let  the  vio- 
lence, rancor,a"d  fury  of  their  subsequent  wars 
bear  testimony  of  their  immortal  animosity. 
But  that  rage,  which  they  could  not  spend  on 
the  heads  of  their  oppressors,  they  directed 
against  each  other:  and  their  sufferings  and 
misfortunes  are  not  to  be  paralleled  in  the  his- 
tory of  any  people. 

Heroes,  legislators,  sages,  reformers  !  what 
have  ye  done  ?     You  have  been  deified  for  the 
benefits,  it  was  supposed,  you  had  conferred  on 
humanity.     Behold  the  fruit  of  your  labor  I 
[To  be  continued. 

'     Sermons. 

There  was  a  certain  clergyman,  in  a  neigh- 
boring state,  who  made  choice  of  the  following 
words  for  the  theme  of  his  discourse,  "  Thus 
■aith  the  Lord,  make  this  valley  full  of  ditches." 
He  divided  his  subject  into  a  convenient  num- 
ber of  heads,  and  made  a  very  learned  and  ex- 
cellent discourse. 

One  of  his  auditors  observed  to  him  after- 
wards, in  conversation,  that  he  was  amazed 
that  the  doctor  should  select  such  a  portion  of 
scripture  for  his  text :  it  appearing,  he  thought, 
to  require  a  great  deal  of  genius  to  deduce  a 
suitable  discourse  from  those  words. 

The  doctor  replied,  "  My  dear  sir,  he  must 
be  a  poor  clergymen  who  cannot  preach  Christ 
from  any  text  in  the  Bible."  ' '  Well  doctor," 
replied  the  former,  "how  would  you  preach 
Christ  from  the  iron  bedstead  of  Og,  king  of 
Bashan  ?"  ♦'  Why,"  said  the  doctor,  "the  iron 
of  the  bedstead  is  a  type  of  the  hardness  of 
your  heart  and  the  stiffness  of  your  neck  ;  the 
greatness  of  its  size  resembles  the  magnitude 
of  your  sins.  It  requires  the  power  of  Christ 
to  soften  your  heart  and  take  away  your  mani- 
fold transgressions.  The  transition  is  easy  and 
natural" 

Now,  however  we  may  admire  the  ingenuity 
of  preachers  in  making  an  excellent  discourse 


from  an  unpromising  text,  we  think  they  might 
often  make  a  better  selection  than  they  do. 
We  have  often  had  occasion  to  remark  that  the 
orator  passes  over  excellent  maxims  of  mor- 
ality  in  order  to  select  a  passage  of  scripture, 
which  he  conceives  he  can  manage  so  as  to 
draw  certain  in'erences  in  favcr  of  some  con- 
tested point  of  doctrine,  in  which  he  supposes 
the  honor  of  his  sect  is  involved. 

We  would  recommend  it  to  any  clergyman, 
who  may  be  desirous  of  addressing  an  appro- 
priate  discourse  to  the  youth  of  Philadelphia, 
to  make  a  text  of  the  following  words : 

"Thou  shall  not  curse  the  deaf,  nor  lav  a  stumb- 
ling block  before   the  blind I  am  the 

Lord." 

These  words  are  found  recorded  in  the  nine- 
teenth  chapter  of  the  third  hook  of  Moses 
called  Leviticus,  and  fourteenth  verse.  The 
discourse  may  be  divided  into— but  we  are  not 
disposed  to  write  the  sermon.  Let  the  preacher 
divide  it  into  as  many  heads  as  he  may  think 
proper.  Let  him  expatiate  upon  each  as  long 
as  be  pleases  ;  and  then  apply  the  whole  as  the 
Lord  may  enable  him.  He  may  draw  as  many 
inferences,  as  may  seem  '  right  in  his  eyes'  in 
favor  of  abstruse  and  metaphysical  doclrinesin 
divinity  ;  but  it  is  our  particular  request,  that 
he  would  take  some  notice  of  the  malignant 
disposition  discoverable,  even  in  children,  to 
insult  and  torment  the  deformed,  the  drunken, 
and  insane,  who  occasionally  appear  in  the 
streets  of  the  city. 

We  have  seen  several  hundred  boys  surround 
a  wretched  maniac,  and  torture  him  to  a  par- 
oxysm of  fury  by  their  words  and  their  actions. 
We  have  seen  them  follow  a  deformed  littlo 
mortal,  with  shouts  of  reproach  and  every  spe- 
cies  of  opprobrious  language.  We  have  seen 
them  rejoice, '  with  exceeding  great  joy,'  at  the 
discovery  of  a  drunken  pauper.  The  civilized 
alarm  whoop  was  raised  in  a  moment ;  and 
every  polished  little  savage,  within  several 
squares,  ran,  exulting,  to  the  entertainment. 

Is  this  civihzation  ?  is  it  humanity  ?  or  do 
you  call  it  a  savage  practice  ? — Such  actions 
were  never  known  among  the  savages  of  the 
wilderness.  But,  from  second  thoughts  we  be- 
lieve the  sermon  should  be  addressed  to  the 
parents,  and  not  to  the  children. 

Edting. 

Piomingo,  the  intention  of  this  letter  is  to 
request  you  to  inform  the  public  what  you 
mean  by  talking  of  a  man  "living  that  he  may 
eat."  I  should  like  to  know  what  there  is 
equally  interesting  that  he  could  live  for.  I, 
for  my  own  part,  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
this  is  the  design  of  his  creation  ;  and  were  I 
allowed  to  answer  the  question,  "  What  is  the 
chief  end  of  man?"  agreeably  to  my  own 
private  opinion,  I  would  say,  "  To  eat,  drink, 
and  sleep." 

Men  may  affect  to  despise  eating  as  much 
as  they  please ;  but  I  believe  it  has  been  their 


40 


THE  SAVAGE. 


principal  concern  in  all  ages.  Why  do  they 
tremble  at  the  idea  of  poverty  ?  Poverty  is 
not  a  tliin?  dreadful  in  itself;  but,  alas!  it  in- 
cludes the  idea  of  hunger  and  starvation.  Sup- 
pose a  painter  were  to  be  employed  to  produce 
a  picture  of  poverty;  would  not  wtnt  be  dis- 
covered in  the  buHy,  and  famine  in  the  coun- 
•tenrince  ? 

However  men  may  boast  of  intellectual  en- 
joyments, it  is  plain  thc;y  are  only  considered 
as  ihins^s  worthy  of  a  secondary  consideration  ; 
and  when  they  attempt  to  describe  those  ce- 
lestial delights,  they  do  it  by  some  image 
drawn  from  tiie  scitncf.  of  cookery,  or  the  im- 
portant business  of  eating.  What  are  we  to 
understind  by  '^ihc  feast  of  reason  and_^o«J 
of  soul,"  but  that  they  enjoy  a  kind  of  pleasure, 
which,  though  iufiiiitcly  inferior,  bears  some 
faint  resemblance  to  the  ineffable  delights  of 
eating  and  drinking.  The  most  ai dent  desires 
of  the  mind  are  made  known  by  comparing 
them  to  hunger  and  thirst;  and  the  highest 
and  most  sublime  ment  il  gratification  is  liken- 
ed  to  a  spread  table  and  an  oterjlowincr  cup. 
When  the  wise  king  of  Israel  would  sum  up 
the  felicities  of  Hfe,  he  declares  that  "  there  is 
nothing  better  for  a  man  than  that  he  should 
^at  and  drink ;  and  he  adds,  with  rapturous 
exultation,  "  Who  can  eat  or  hasten  hereunto 
more  than  I  ?" 

A  nice  and  accurate  judge  of  literary  works 
is  said  to  be  possessed  of  taste ;  and  when  the 
critic  boasts  of  having  a  relish  for  the  writings 
of  the  poets,  be  feasts  his  imagination  with  tho 
tweet  savor  of  viands,  and  smoking  hot  culinary 
similitudes. 

The  happiness  of  the  immortal  gods  was 
placed  in  nectar  and  ambrosia ;  and  when  we 
■contemplate  the  fleeting  nature  of  our  own  ex- 
istence,  we  are  ready  to  exclaim,  "  Let  us  eat 
and  drink  ;  for  to-morrow  we  r^ust  die  1"  I 
defy  any  one  to  think  of  the  maxim  of  Horace, 
*'  enjoy  the  present  moment,"  without  referring 
immediately  to  the  delishts  of  the  table  and 
the  ecstasies  of  deglutition. 

As  feasting  with  the  gods  was  the  reward 
bestowed  upon  heroes  for  their  marvellous  ex- 
ploits; so  the  curse  of  hunger  and  thirst  was 
the  punishment  inflicted  upon  the  wicked  for 
the  most  atrocious  of  crimes.  O,  unfortunate 
TantilusI  may  I  be  turned  on  the  wheel  of 
torment,  may  vultures  devour  my  liver,  may  I 
Toll  up  with  anguish  of  heart  the  still  revolving 
8lone,  rather  than  suffer  the  hundredth  part  of 
thy  excruciatmg  misery  !  I  seem  to  see,  even 
at  this  moment,  thy  parched  lips  within  an 
inch  of  the  cooling  stream  I  I  see  misery  in- 
thron"d  on  thy  famine-struck  visage  !  I  see 
thy  hungry  eyes  turned  up  with  unutterable 
longiig  to  the  fruit  that  hangs  above  thy 
head  : 

When  the  fertile  fields  of  Canaan  were  pro- 
tnised  to  the  Jews,  they  were  described  as 
^•flowing  with  milk  and  honey"  and  abounding 
in  "  corn  and  wine." 


"  Bring  it  near  to  me,"  said  the  blind  but 
venison-loving  Isaac,  "  brin?  it  near  to  me,  and 
I  will  eat  of  my  son's  venison,  that  my  soul 
may  bless  thee.  And  he  brought  it  near  to  him, 
and  he  did  eat;  and  he  broughf  him  wine,  and 
he  drank."  What  was  the  great  blessing  that 
Isaac  had  to  bestow  on  Jacob  ? — "  The  dew  of 
heaven,  the  fatness  of  the  earth,  and  plenty  of 
corn  and  wine."  The  wise  old  patriarchs  had 
too  nm'ch  sense  to  prefer  the  hiinrrry  pleasures 
of  the  im^o-ination  to  the  ^^  feast  of  fat  things 
full  of  marrow."  And  although  theartofeat- 
ing  has  of  late  been  carried  to  a  pitch  of  per- 
fection, of  which  the  ancietits  had  no  idea ; 
yet,  they  had  a  tolerable  acquaintance  with 
what  have  been  emphatically  styled  the  good 
tuings  of  life. 

I  will  frankly  acknowledge  that  eating  is 
my  principal  concern  :  no  other  business  occu- 
pies so  much  of  my  attention.  The  time  that 
is  spent  at  the  table,  and  the  knowledge  that  is 
displayed  in  the  preparation  of  food,  1  conceive 
to  be  two  things  which,  more  than  any  other 
ch.'iiacterislics,  distinguish  civilized  men  from 
barbarians.  To  a  savage,  the  sensation  of 
hunger  is  disagreeable,  and  he  endeavors  to 
remove  it  as  expeditiously  as  possible  ;  but 
the  man  of  refinement  his  reduced  eating  to  a 
science  :  it  is  his  business  and  his  pleasure. 

The  only  thing  that  gives  me  any  uneasi- 
ness is  that  I  cannot  always  continue  the  ope- 
ration of  eating.  Why  was  not  man  so  con- 
stitutcd  that  he  might  eat  from  the  moment  of 
his  birth  to  the  instant  of  his  death?  The 
only  remedy  I  find  for  this  evil  is  to  fill  up  the 
interval,  that  occurs  between  one  meal  and 
another,  vvilh  sleep.  And  this  answers  the 
purpose  tolerably  well ;  for,  as  sleep  is  a  kind 
of  derith,  I  seem  to  lose  my  existence  when  life 
would  be  a  burden.  The  early  Romans  de- 
voured their  plain  repast  in  ten  or  fifteen  mi- 
nutes; but  their  luxurious  descendnnts,  who 
enjoyed  riches  and  leisure,  lay  whole  nights 
round  their  table,  feasting  like  heroes  and 
drinking  like  gods.  They  were  determined  to 
partake  of  the  pleasures  of  life  in  opposition  to 
every  obstacle:  for,  if  their  stomachs  were  re- 
plenished before  the  end  of  the  entertainment, 
they  hastened  to  discharge  their  contents  by 
vomition,  and  returned  with  fresh  ardor  to  the 
feast. 

In  fine,  I  conceive  that  the  wise  in  all  ages 
have  placed  the  summvm  bonum  in  good  eating: 
that,  at  least,  is  my  philosophy.  "Some  peo- 
ple," says  the  great,  doctor  Johnson,  "have  a 
foolish  way  of  not  minding,  or  pretending  not 
to  mind,  what  thev  eat.  For  my  part,  I  mind 
my  belly  very  studiously  and  very  carefully; 
for  I  look  upon  it,  that  he  who  does  not  mind 
his  belly  will  hardly  mind  any  thing  else." 

This  same  doctor  Johnson  is  said  to  have 
made  many  wise  observations  :  but  this,  I  sup- 
jK)se  to  be  one  of  the  wisest  he  ever  uttered. 
What  business  can  stand  in  competition  with 
this?  What  pleasure  has  half  the  allurements? 
Were  I  in  the  paradise  of  Mohammed,  I  should 


THE  SAVAGE 


41 


find  no  other  employment  for  the  Houries,  but 
to  wait  on  my  table. 

But  the  hour  of  dinner  approaches. — Already 
the  sweet  odor  of  roastbeef  assails  my  nostrils. 
Hark !  I  hear  the  rattling  of  the  knives  and 
the  soul-cheering  jingle  of  the  plates.  Tlie 
servants  pass  and  repass  in  the  busy  haste  of 
preparation.  Farewell  savage  !  by  the  life  of 
Apicius,  I  would  not  wait  a  minute  for  all  the 
barbarians  in  the  universe.  My  whole  frame 
trembles  with  the  intensity  of  desire. 
The  world  recedes;  it  disappears 
Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes.     My  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring 

John  Gormakd. 

Society. 

That,  man  was  not  designed  by  nature  for  a 
solitary  animal  appears  from  that  instinctive 
impulse  which  one  in  solitude  discovers  to  seek 
the  society  of  his  species.  A  cynic,  however 
morose  in  his  disposition,  ungracious  in  his 
deportment,  and  violent  in  his  expressions, 
finds  a  strange  satisfaction  in  mingling  with 
the  crowd. 

Cynophilus,  an  ancient  philosopher,  felt  no 
attachment  for  any  creature  in  existence  but 
his  dog.  Ho  dwelt  in  tlie  fields.  His  food 
consisted  of  roots  and  berries;  and  his  drink 
was  water.  Every  individual  of  the  human 
race  was  an  object  of  abhorrence  and  con- 
tempt ;  yet  he  frequently  walked  in  the  popu- 
lous city,  and  pressed  through  the  multitude 
assembled  in  the  forum :  what  could  be  his 
motive  for  this  extraordinary  conduct? — He 
was  governed  by  the  same  impulse  which 
compels  the  sheep  to  feed  in  flocks :  he  was  a 
gregarious  animal 

The  hermit,  who  fixes  his  residence  in  the 
desert  far  removed  from  the  footsteps  of  men, 
feels  this  innate  propensity  so  strong  in  his 
breast,  that  he  finds  it  necessary  to  assemble 
around  his  rushy  couch  an  innumerable  multi- 
tude of  visionary  men,  whom  he  dignifies  with 
the  appellation  of  angels.  He  holds  imaginary 
communion  with  prophets  and  apostles,  and 
walks  the  streets  of  the  New  Jerusalem  with 
myriads  of  saints  clothed  in  white,  singing 
songs  of  praise  and  exultation. 

"You  may  drive  back  nature  with  violence," 
says  Horace,  "  but  she  will  continually  return." 
The  hermit  has  denied  himself  the  pleasures 
of  society,  in  this  miserable  world,  and  among 
a  degenerate  people ;  but  he  promises  himself 
the  enjoyment  of  mingling  in  a  crowd  of  better 
men  beyond  the  grave. 

The  Golden  Age. 
Propertius,  a  Roman  elegiac  poet  who  died 
a  shor^time  before  the  commencement  of  the 
christian  era,  contends  that  he  lived  in  the 
golden  age ;  and  the  reason  he  assigns  for 
this  opinion  appears  to  be  cogent : 

Aurea  nunc  vere  sunt  saecula :  plurimus  auro 
Venit  honos. — 

We  may  say,  with  as  much  truth  as  Proper- 
F 


tiu9,  "  This  truly  is  the  golden  age :  muoh 
honor  cometh  by  gold." 

THE  SAVAGE— NO.  IX. 

Slavery, 
Slavery — but  we  will  endeavor  to  discuss 
this  subject  without  quoting  the  celebrated 
apostrophe  of  Sterne,  or  the  no  less  celebrated 
verses  of  CoWper.  Of  what  species  of  slavery 
shall  we  speak?  Shall  we  take  notice  of  the 
servile  condition  of  Asia;  the  drudgery  of  Eu- 
rope; or  the  misfortunes  of  Africa. 

Men  are  prone  to  overlook  things  that  are 
nigh;  and  fix  their  eyes  on  distant  objects. 
They  are  afflicted  by  the  distresses  of  those 
who  groan  under  the  rigor  of  foreign  despotism; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  they  are  busily  era- 
ployed  in  maturing  the  same  sufferings  for 
themselves  and  for  their  children. 

The  citizens  of  the  United  States  lament, 
with  the  greatest  apparent  sensibility,  the  mis- 
fortunes, distresses  and  grievances  of  poor  op- 
pressed enslaved  Europeans ;  yet  they,  them- 
selves, are  every  day  hastening  to  the  extent 
of  their  abilities,  the  time  when  the  people  of 
America  will  be  precisely  in  the  situation  of 
those  whose  affairs  they  now  so  feelingly  de- 
plore. 

Tlie  condition  of  the  laborers  and  peasantry 
in  Europe  is  miserable  enough  ;  but  there  was 
a  time  when  they  were  by  no  means  so  unfor- 
tunate. There  was  a  time  when,  compara- 
tively speaking,  they  were  savages;  when 
equality  prevailed  among  the  great  body  of 
the  people  ;  when  they  were  ignorant  of  the 
vices,  luxuiies,  and  diseases  which  have  been 
introduced  by  the  progress  of  civilization.  But 
those  times  are  changed.  Commerce  has 
spread  her  sails  and  visited  the  remotest  cor- 
ners of  the  earth.  She  has  poured  the  dia- 
monds of  the  east  and  the  gold  of  the  west  into 
the  bosom  of  Europe.  She  has  erected  mag. 
nificent  cities;  into  which  she  has  introduced 
luxury  and  pomp — wretchedness  and  want. 
She  has  established  manufactories;  which  have 
been  productive  of  riches  and  splendor — pover- 
ty, vice,  and  disease.  Well :  let  the  citizens  of 
the  United  States  extend  their  commerce,  and 
establish  manufactories.  What  will  be  the 
consequence?  Wealth,  prosperity,  luxury, 
magnificence-and  all  those  other  things  which 
we  have  already  proved  to  be  inseparable  at- 
tendants on  luxury  and  refinement.  Do  not 
extensive  manufactories  and  wide-spreading 
commerce  produce  riches  ?  Does  not  the  pos- 
session of  riches  confer  power  ?  Is  not  slavery 
necessarily  coexistent  with  power  ?  If  riches 
did  not  confer  power  on  the  possessor,  they 
would  cease  to  be  an  object  of  pursuit :  they 
would  be  totally  useless.  If  they  do  confer 
power,  they  must,  necessarily,  impoverish 
others  in  the  same  proportion  that  they  enrich 
the  possessor.  One  wealthy  man  cannot  ren- 
der other  men,  equally  wealthy  with  himself, 
subservient  to  his  wishes ;  but  let  him  increase 


43 


THE  SAVAGE. 


hia  own  wealth,  and  then  he  will  be  able  to  ex-  The  grovelling  bnsencss,  the  sordid  rnjus^ 
tend  his  influence  over  those  who  were  former-  tice,  the  cowardly  cruelties,  of  A,  are  forgotten, 
ly  hie  equals  :  consequently  they  are  impover-  He  has  defrauded  the  fatherless,  oppressed  the 
ished  in  the  same  proportion  that  he  is  enrich-  widow,  deluded  tlic  thoughtless,  deceived  the 
ed.  Every  accession  of  wealth,  therefoa\  to  ignorant,  sncriticed  his  friends,  betrayed  his 
an  inJividual  in  any  community  is  an  acces-  tiust,  and  laid  perjury  on  his  soul;  but  he  is 
sion  of  poverty  or  slavery  to  every  other  indi-  rich  ;  and  all  is  forgotten.  The  industrious 
vidual  within  the  sphere  of  his  influence.  Why  families,  ruined  by  his  i7igenuHy,nre  scattered 
should  we  deplore  the  existence  of  that  slavery  over  tlie  world,  the  victims  of  sorrow,  vice  and 
in  other  parts  of  the  world,  which  already  ex  disease  :  or,  deep  in  the  vale  of  penury,  their 
ists  among  ourselves,  and  which  we  use  every  tears  fnU  unnoticed  ;  and  their  groans  are  not 
exertion  within  the  limits  of  our  power  to  bring  heard.  He  reaps  the  harvest  of  his  vilh.nies  ; 
to  perfection?  Why  should  we  express  re-  becomes  an  alderman  or  justice  of  the  peace  ; 
sentment  against  an  Asiatic  or  European  des-  enjoys  otium  cum  dignitale ;  dies  in  peace,  at 
pot  for  exercising  that  power  which  has  fallen  a  good  old  age ;  and  his  fortune  descends  to 
into  his  hands  by  a  train  of  causes  and  effects,   his  son. 

and  yet  express  no  disapprobation  of  the  eon-  B,  in  the  mean  time,  has  been  much  more 
duct  of  the  wealtiiy  man  who  uses,  to  the  ut-  expeditious  and  more  fortunate  in  the  acquisi- 
most,  that  influence  which  the  possession  of  tion  of  wealth  than  his  brotlier.  He  ha. <<  gone 
riches  has  given  him  over  society  ?  The  rich  to  the  the  East  Indies  or  to  the  West,  orsome- 
raan  and  the  prince  are  equally  culpable:  there  wlicreelsc;  where  he  has  kindled  wars,  plun- 
can  be  no  more  harm  merely  in  the  acquisition  dered  towns^,  inipoverishcd  provinces,  and  re- 
of  a  throne,  than  there  is  in  ma'iiing  a  tortune  turned  to  !iis  countiy  with  inexhaustible  stores. 
and  a  crown  received  by  inheritance  is  as  He  ;:.s(onishes  tiie  crowd  with  his  riches;  he 
much  the  property  of  the  possessor,  as  an  es-  wallows  in  luxury ;  he  indulges  his  ta-~te  for 
tate  received  by  the  death  of  the  father  is  tiie  magnificence  and  splendor  ;  he  extends  his 
property  of  the  son.  He,  who  sways  the  seep-  patronage  to  literature  and  tiie  fine  arts;  he 
tre,  exercises  power.  He,  wlio  uses  the  estate,  becomes  a  Mecenas  to  every  mr.n  of  learning, 
exercises  power.  The  cases  are  in  every  re-  and  ttie  dulce  decus  of  polished  societ)' ;  lie 
spect  similar  :  and  if  it  be  wrong  to  acquire  a  subscribes  to  charitable  institutions;  and  corn- 
kingdom,  it  is  wrong  to  accumulate  money  :  mauds  the  homage,  respect,  and  adoration  of 
the  object  in  both  cases  being  precisely  tiie  the  world  1  When  he  dies,  his  obsequies  are 
same — power.  The  man  who  aspires  to  em  celebrated  with  pomp ;  and  his  name  is  im- 
pire  removes  the  obstacles  that  stand  in  his  mortalized  by  sculptors  and  poels. 
way ;  the  man  who  would  amass  riches  does 


the  same.  Villany  is  sometimes  practised  by 
the  former;  and  sometimes,  by  the  latter.  We 
grant  that  more  evil  is  frequently  perpetrated 
by  the  great,  tiian  by  the  little,  usurper ;  but 
if  the  pursuit  of  one  be  justifiable,  so  is  that  of 
the  other. 

Three  brothers  enter  the  world  at  the  same 
time.  They  all  resolve  to  grow  powerful :  but 
B  is  of  a  more  aspiring  dispoyilian  than  A  ; 
and  C  is  still  more  ambitious  than  B.  A  re- 
mains in  liis  native  town,  and  manages  his 
little  traffic  witii  infinite  cunning  and  address. 
He  studies  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  price  of  every 
species  of  goods ;  and  buys  vp  or  sells  ojf  as 
circumstances  may  require.  If  he  suppose 
that  a  certain  article  will  be  in  demand,  he  en- 
deavors to  engross  it;  and  afterwards  takes 
every  advantage,  in  his  power,  of  those  who 
were  possessed  of  less  cunning  or  foresight 
than  himself.     If  he  know  of  some  cireum- 


But  the  daring  ambition  of  C  was  not  con- 
tent with  the  acquisition  of  power  by  the  ae- 
cumul  iticn  of  money.  Ho  courted  the  people ; 
was  elected  their  representative ;  became  their 
idol ;  received  tiie  chief  command  of  thtir 
forces;  seized  on  the  public  treasure ;  and,, 
after  a  severe  battle,  in  which  some  thousand 
lives  were  lost,  he  incireled  his  brows  with  a 
diadem.  What  then  ?  He  is  a  mild  and  bene- 
ficent prince.  He  causes  punishment  to  be 
inflicte*!  upon  evildoers;  and  pi;;ise  to  be  be- 
stowed on  tliosc  who  do  well.  He  is  accounted 
the  laiher  of  his  people ;  and  transmits  his 
crown  with  full  sovereignty  to  his  descend- 
ants. 

Was  not  the  object  of  these  three  brothers 
precisely  the  game  ?  Did  they  not  all,  accord- 
ing to  their  respective  capacities,  endeavor  to 
acquire  and  exercise  power  ?  The  means  em- 
ployed by  one  were  equally  unjustifiable  t^ith 


follies  and  misfortunes   of  "others,  he°  acquires  wjis  Produced    by  A ;  hu^m  foro  conscienti<e, 

money  with  considerable  rapiditj^.     He  is  ae-  ^^^^  ^^'"''^  ""  ^'^"'^"^  ^"'""''- 

counted  a  man  of  substance.     His  credit  is  Wo  need  not,  therefore,  look  to  Africa,  Asia» 

established.   He  contracts  debts  to  an  immense  or  Europe,  lor  the  existence  of  slavery  :  the 

amount;  turns  his    property  into   cash;  takes  plant  flourishes  in  the  United  States  ;  but  it  i^ 

the  benefit  of  some  act  of  insolvency  or  bank-  not  yet  in   a  state   of  maturity.     The  people 

ruptcy ;  and  his  fortune  is  made !  partake  something  still  of  the  nature  of  savages; 


[•HE  SAVAGE. 


4S 


"wfeen  they  become  perfectly  civilized,  they 
will  be  perfectly  slaves. 

A  man  is  not  iricommoded  by  a  nuisance 
which  Ins  l.:)ng  h.-en  f.imiliar  to  his  senses; 
b"Jt  if  he  i.e  exposed  to  the  effluvia  of  a  difff-r- 
ent  species  of  filth,  to  which  he  has  not  been 
accustomed,  he  will  iinniediately  show  signs 
of  disgu.-<t  ;,nd  detestation.  The  inh.ibitunt  of 
Philudolphid  percci\cs  not  (or  perceiving-  dis- 
liiies  not)  tiiosc  odoriferous  g.iles  that  issue 
from  the  narrow  alleys  and  sinks  of  the  city; 
whereas  a  man  from  tiio  country,  who  is  cou- 
versant  enough  witii  abominations  of  a  differ- 
ent kind,  will  give  manifest  indications  of 
loathinjT  and  abhorrence. — So  it  is  with  moral 
turpitude :  the  slavery  that  has  become  iiimi- 
liar  to  a  man's  eyes  makes  no  impression  on 
his  mind;  but  that  which  assumes  a  ditter- 
cut  for;n,  or  discovers  itself  in  a  different 
manner,  calls  forth  liis  symp::tlietie  condolence. 
Vices  or  follies  to  which  he  has  been  accus- 
tomed give  him  not  the  f-lij;litcst  uneai?incss; 
but  those  of  a  more  uncommon  nnture,  or  those 
which  are  the  consequence;  of  manners  and 
customs  different  from  his  own,  awaken  his 
pity  and  contempt. 

We  have  often  heard  a  Pennsylvania  farmer 
cxeeratin;^  the  conduct  of  a  s<iulhtrn  planter, 
in  holding  the  unfortunate  Africans  in  a  state 
of  slavery;  yet  this  man  never  once  reflected 
that  he,  liimself,  was  gnilty  ot  tlie  same  injus- 
tice which  he  reprobated  so  severely  in  anotlier. 
The  Virginia  planter  exercises  authority  over 
his  fellow  men ;  so  does  the  Pennsylvania  fiir- 
mer.  There  is  no  difference  but  this :  one 
possesses  more  power  than  the  otiier. 

The  Virginian  possesses  five  hundred 
slaves:  he  acquired  them  by  inheritance,  or 
purchas'^d  them  with  his  money.  lie  claims 
their  perpetual  services;  and  the  laws  of  his 
country  sanction  his  claim.  By  las  powertul 
exertions,  or  by  ii  fortunate  concurrence  of  cir- 
cumstances, he  has  acquired  an  absolute  as- 
cendancy over  tiiese  men:  consequently  they 
are  absolutely  his  slaves. 

The  Pennsylvanian  is  in  posssssion  of  a  land- 
ed estate,  worth  one  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
His  fields  are  cultivated  by  fifty  or  sixty  rag- 
ged miserable  laborers ;  to  whom  he  gives 
twelve  dollars  a  month  one  year,  because  they 
cannot  be  procured  at  a  cheaper  rate.  Another 
year,  laborers  are  numerous ;  they  range  over 
the  country  in  every  direction  begging  tor  em- 
ployment. He  now  hires  them  for  ten,  eight, 
seven,  six,  five,  four,  dollars  a  month  and  even 
sometimes  allows  them  nothing  (to  make  use 
of  a, favorite  expression  of  his  own)  but  their 
victuals  for  their  work.  Observe  well,  that  be 
exercises  every  power,whicl)  his  own  exertions, 
or  a  fortunate  eoncurreiice  of  circumstances, 
have  given  him  over  his  fellow  men. 

What  injustice  is  discoverable  in  the  conduct 
of  the  southern  planter,  which  is  not  also 
found  in  the  practices  of  the  ijiorthern  farmer  ? 


They  are  both  tyrants  to  the  utmost  of  their 
abilities.  They  both  hold  their  fellow  cren- 
tures  in  slavery  as  unbounded  as  their  powers. 
Nor  is  the  condition  of  the  white  slave  in  the 
northern  states  nmch  preferable  to  that  of  the 
black  slave  in  tiie  southern  parts  of  the  union. 
The  laws  ami  the  progress  of  civilization  have 
made  the  indigent  laborer  a  slave  to  every  man 
in  possession  of  riches.  He  may  change  his 
ra  istor ;  but  he  is  condemned  to  perpetual  ser- 
vitude ;  and  his  reward  is  the  reward  of  every 
other  slave — subsistence.  The  situation  of  the 
white  slave  is  often  more  unfortunate  than  that 
oft'ie  black:  he  is  probably  harassed  by  do- 
mestic cares,  ajid  compelled  to  be  a  helpless 
witness  of  the  distresses  of  hii>  family;  or  he 
changes  his  employer  so  often,  with  the  vain 
hope  of  meliorating  his  condition,  that  he  be- 
eo.nes  sick,  infirm,  or  old,  without  having  had 
it  in  his  power  to  secure  the  friendship  or  pro- 
tection of  any  of  his  masters.  Wliat  then  is 
the  consequence  ?  The  wretched  outcast,  after 
a  life  of  slavery,  is  neglected  by  those  who 
liave  enjoyed  the  fruit  of  his  labor  :  he  may 
perisii  in  the  streets,  expire  on  the  highway, 
or  linger  oa*  a  miserable  existence  in  some 
infirmary  or  poorhouse,  till  death  shall  relieve 
him  of  his  pain,  and  the  world  of  a  burthen. 
And  the  pitiful  assistance,  which  is  granted, 
by  tlie  ricl),  to  tlieir  sick,  decrepid,  or  super- 
annu  ited  slave,  is  given  as  a  charity,  accom- 
panied with  reproaches  and  expressions  of  con- 
tempt; and  the  dying  pauper  must  receive  it 
with  all  becoming  humility.  He  is  upbraided 
with  his  vices,  reproached  with  his  follies,  and 
unfeelingly  insulted  by  every  purse-proud  fool 
who  may  manage  the  concerns,or  have  the  su- 
perintendence of  the  poor.  The  black  slave  is 
compelled  to  labor  ;  but  he  is  destitute  of  care. 
He  is  not  at  liberty  to  change  one  service  for 
another ;  but  he  may,  by  long  and  faithful  ad- 
herence to  his  duty,  secure  the  affections  of  his 
master,  and,  by  assiduous  attentions,  conciliate 
his  superiors.  When  he  grows  old  or  infirm, 
he  is  sure  of  being  maintained,  without  having 
recourse  to  the  tender  mercies  of  a  justice  of 
the  peace,  overseer  of  the  poor,  or  superinten- 
dent  of  a  workhouse. 

Is  it  not  a  little  strange  that  the  opulent 
man  when  he  contributes  his  quota  to  the  ne- 
cessities of  a  wretch  who  has  been,  in  every 
sense  of  the  word,  a  slave  to  the  community  of 
the  rich,  considers  himself  as  bestowing  a 
charity ,-  whereas  the  slaveholder  supposes 
himself  bound  in  justice  to  support  the  blacks 
who  are  worn  out  in  his  service  ? — Is  it  not  a 
little  strange  that  we  should  hear  men  in  the 
middle  and  northern  states  pour  forth  reproach- 
es  against  their  brethren  to  the  southward  for 
holding  slaves,  when  they  themselves  are  sup- 
ported  by  the  labor  of  slaves  ?  "  Thou  hypo- 
crite !  first  cast  the  beam  out  of  thine  own 
eye;  and  then  shalt  thou  see  clearly  to  cast 
the  mote  out  of  thy  brother's  eye," 

[  To  be  coaUinneJL 


44  THE  SAVAGE, 

Vitious  Habits.  ferent  direction.     When  this  is  the  case,  no- 

Bad  habits  are  with  the  utmost  difficulty    thing  is  so  advisable  as  active  emplottment  : 
eradicated ;  perhaps,  indeed,  when  they  have    this  is  the  shield  which  will  defend  us  from 
taken   deep   root  they  become  altogether  un-    the  arrows  of  temptation;  it  presents  some  ob. 
conquerable:  because  the  continual  indulgence    ject  which  appears  worthy  of  our  exertions; 
of  any  leading  propensity  has  a  direct  tendency    and  insensibly  restores  a  portion  of  that  energy 
to  weaken  the  powers  of  volition,  or  to  enervate    of  soul,  which  appeared  to  be  irretrievably  lost, 
the   governing   powers  of  the   mind.     Doctor    A  man  who  has  no  employment  may  find  it 
Johnson  says,  that  those  who  have  contracted    utterly  impossible  to  divest   himself  of  vicious 
bad  habits  must  get  rid  of  them  as  well  as  they    habits ;  ^>ut  surely  he  may  resolutely  determine 
can;  but  he  seems,  at  the  same  time,  to  consider    to  engage  in  active  pursuits ;  and  then  he  will 
it  as   a  thing  extremely  improbable,  that  the    find  it  more  easy  to  curb  those  morbid  inclina- 
conquest  should  ever  be  completely  effected.        tions,  which  have  been  nurtured  by  inaction  of 
Johnson,  no  doubt,  spoke   from  experience,    body  and  vacancy  of  mind.     The  great  excel- 
and  if  he,  whose   reasoning   powers  were  so    lence  of  active  employment  consists  in  this:  it 
stronf  and  who  was  so  remarkable  for  forming    diverts  our  attention  from  the  allurements  of 
decided  opinions   on  every  subject,  found  it    evil;  and  turns  us  aside  from   a  conflict  in 
almost  impossible  to  relinguish  practices  which    which  we  are  sure  to  be  vanquished. 
had  become  habitual,  what  must  be  the  fate  of       Let  us  give  an  example :  An  immoderate  in- 
inferior  minds  ?  must  they  resign  themselves    dulgence  in  the  use  of  inebriating  liquors  is 
to  despair,  and  give  full  way  to  pernicious  in-    productive  of  consequences  the  most  deplora- 
dulgences?     It  is  by  no  means  our  intention    ble  and  distressing:  rnen  of  the  most  shining 
to  inculcate  the  opinion,  that  reformation   is    abilities   and  virtuous  dispositions  fall,  every 
impracticable ;  few  cases  of  moral  disease  are    day,  sorrowful  victims  to  the  seductive*  power 
so  desperate  as  not  to  admit  of  a  remedy  :  we    of  this  deleterious  vice  :  yet  it  is  observable  that 
would  only  caution  those,  who  have  never  ex-    indolence  always  precedes  and  accompanies  this 
perienced  the  temptation,  not  to  be  too  hasty  in    pernicious  indulgence.     A  man  may  resolve  a 
pronouncing   the   sentence   of    condemnation    thousand  times  to  refrain  from  the  intoxicating 
upon  one  who  has  fallen  into  a  course  of  habi-    draught ;  but  all  in  vain  as  long  as  he  contin- 
tual  error.     Minds  of  the  first  order  are  per-   ues  in  a  state  of  inaction.     But  should  he  begin 
haps  the  most  prone  to  run  into  extremes  :  and   to  exercise  the  faculties  of  his  mind  or  labor 
it  is  most  true,  that  the  unrestrained  indulgence   with  hie  hands,  this  bodily  or  mental  exertion 
even  of  virtuous  inclinations,  in  this  civilized   will  give  energy  to  his  resolution  ;  and  he  will 
VBorld,  has  a  direct  tendency  to  lead  the  amia.   stand  a  chance  to  succeed  in  his   projects  of 
ble  delinquent  into  the  paths  of  error  and  of  reformation. 

vice.  Cold  phlegmatic  beings — who  never  felt  To  conclude :  there  are  a  multitude  of  de- 
the  inspirations  of  genius,  the  turbulence  of  structive  habits ;  but  the  habit  of  idleness  is  the 
passion,  or  the  enthusiasm  of  virtue — who  are  most  pernicious  of  any.  It  relaxes  the  body 
unassailable  by  every  motive  that  might  lead  and  the  mmd  ;  it  engenders  and  fosters  every 
them  astray — who  have  pursued  the  path  of  species  of  vice,  and  makes  existence  a  burthen 
prudent  expediency  because  they  were  destitute  too  heavy  to  be  borne.  Happy  is  the  man,who 
of  every  species  of  vivid  emotioiis— such  beings  never  experienced  that  lassitude,  that  listless- 
are  apt  to  condemn,  with  envious  malignity,  ness,  that  torpidity,  that  incapability  of  every 
the  aberrations  of  superior  iiiinds  ;  but  they  species  of  mental  exertion  which — we  now 
ought  to  reflect  that  they  are  incapacitated  by  feel !  We  must  lay  aside  our  pen,  and  take 
nature  for  being  competent  judges  in  these  af-  our  tobacco  tube  to  "puff  away  care."  Five 
fairs.  A  man  of  genius,  says  some  writer,  minutes  ago,  we  resolved  never  to  smoke  any 
■hould  have  the  privilege  of  being  tried  by  his   more.     So  much  for  habits. 

peers.     So  a  man,  whose  benevolence  of  char-  

acter,  whose  warm   and   social  feelings,  and  Complaint. 

whose  amiable  eccentricities,  have  been  the  When  we  find  any  thing  that  appears  to 
causes  of  his  falling  into  vicious  courses,  when  stand  alone  in  nature,  without  bearing  any  re- 
judgment  is  to  be  passed,  on  his  conduct,  is  en-  lation  to  any  other  thing  in  existence,  we  are 
titled  to  a  jury  equally  as  benevolent,  humnne  much  more  surprised  than  we  are  by  tracing 
and  virtuous  as  himself,  those  wonderful  aptitudes   and  relations  that 

When,  by  a  long  course  of  self-indulgence,  exist  among  the  multitude  of  objects  which  we 
■we  have  lost  that  strength  of  mind  which  is  denominate  the  universe.  Judicious  philoso- 
necessary  to  enable  us  to  persevere  in  any  par-  phers  have  drawn  their  most  powerful  argu- 
ticular  hne  of  self-denial,  ihe  only  remedy  that  ments  for  the  existence  of  a  great  intelligent 
remains  is  to  dislodge  one  evil  by  the  introduc  first  cause  from  this  consideration.  The  sun 
tion  of  another;  and  as  we  are  generally  under  sends  not  in  vain  his  rays  through  the  immen- 
the  influence  of  some  leading  propensity  every  sity  of  space :  they  encounter  other  substances, 
change  that  is  effected  in  our  habits  must  be  and  are  reflected  from  them,  and  convey, 
productive  of  advantage.  The  mind  becomes  through  the  medium  of  the  eye,  to  the  sentient 
BDsettled;  it  is  diverted  from  its  vicious  career;  principle  of  the  human  mind,  the  images  of 
andtheio  opem  a  possibility  of  givinpf  it  a  dif.  the  objects  they  have  visited.    Thus,  howeve 


THE  SAVAGK  45 

remote  may  be  the  situationof  things,  they  arc  that  man,  in  the  morning  of  time,  being  more 
bound  together  by  certain  relations,  which  virtuous  than  the  man  now  existing,  had  the 
show  the  care  and  power  of  some  mighty  in-  same  inclination  to  listen  to  the  complaints  of 
telligence.  otliers  as  to  give  utterance  to  his  own  ;  but 
The  eye  bears  a  relation  to  visible  objects;  that,  in  progress  of  tmie,  when  personal  inte- 
our  ears  have  formed  a  connection  with  things  rests  became  paramount  to  every  moral  dispo- 
which  are  not  perceptible  by  the  eye ;  our  sition,  he  ceased  to  be  affected  by  the  misfor- 
feeling  enables  us  to  understand  those  proper-  tunes  of  others,  altliougli.  to  promote  his  pri- 
ties  of  bodies  which  are  neither  discoverable  by  vate  purposes,  he  still  continued  to  claim  their 
the  eye  nor  the  ear;  and  by  the  sm^ll,  we  are  attention  to  his  own  tragical  details?  How 
assured  of  the  existence,  and  made  acquainted  this  may  be,  we  cannot  tell :  but  we  are  satis, 
with  the  nature  of  those  ininute  parts  of  bodies  fied  that  the  disposition  of  the  human  mind, 
that  fly  off  in  every  direction.  Indeed  the  under  affliction,  to  bewail  its  fate,  gnd  to  en- 
senses  of  man  are  so  exactly  calculated  to  give  dcavor  to  awaken  sympathy  is  still  found  to 
information  concerning  the  objects  by  which  exist,  although  it  certainly  answers  not  the 
he  is  surrounded,  that  it  is  fully  evident  that  purpose  for  which  it  appears  to  have  been 
nature  had  produced  and  furnished  the  place  of  originally  designed.  Men  still  continue  to 
his  residence,  before  she  gave  existence  to  man  relate  their  sorrows,  wants,  and  desires,  to 
and  the  other  animated  inhabitants  of  the  uni-  every  one  that  has  complaisance  enough  to 
verse.  Also  the  faculties  which  she  has  given  pretend  to  listen  to  their  mournful  effusions; 
to  every  different  species  of  animals  arc  exactly  but  they  ought  to  know  that  this  is  not  the 
such  as  are  rendered  necessary  by  the  mode,  or  way  to  find  consolation  in  their  sorrows,  or  to 
place,  of  their  existence  :  some  inhabit  the  wa-  effect  any  other  purpose  they  may  have  in 
ters ;  some  dwell  on  the  earth  ;  while  others  view.  The  only  way  to  arrive  at  the  comple- 
wing  their  way  through  the  regions  of  the  air:  tion  of  their  desires  is  to  conceal  carefully  the 
the  construction  of  their  bodies  and  their  powers  existence  of  their  wants:  men,  with  true  ser- 
of  perception  being  universally  suited  to  the  vility,  will  fly  to  gratify  al'  the  desires  of  those 
necessities  of  their  several  situations.  And  we  who,  they  suppose,  stand  in  no  need  of  their 
have  been  so  long  accustomed  to  the  observa-  assistance. 

tion  of  thesfi  existing  relations  not  only  be-  This  proneness  to  complain,  however  natn- 
twcen  animals  and  substances  inanimate,  but  ral,  is  only  excusable  in  a  youth  or  in  a  fool: 
also  between  one  animal  and  another,  and  be-  a  man  of  good  sense,  who  has  completed  his 
tween  one  lifeless  substance  and  another  equal-  sixth  lustrum,  yet  still  is  inclined  to  whine 
ly  lifeless  with  itself,  that  we  are  filled  with  when  any  little  misfortune  assails  him, deserves 
astonishment  when  we  think  we  discover  any  the  contempt  he  will  experience.  The  charac- 
departure  from  these  established  regulations  in  ter  of  Cicero  is  lessened  by  the  complaints  he 
the  operations  of  nature.  Should  we  see  a  shark  suffered  to  escape  him  :  and  who  can  read  the 
grazing  in  the  fields,or  the  tiger  chasing  the  fish  sad  things  that  were  written  by  the  banished 
through  the  bosom  of  the  deep;  should  we  find  a  Ovid,  without  despising  the  man  whose  mis- 
carnivorous  animal  with  the  teeth  and  feet  of  an  fortunes  debased,  whereas  they  should  have 
ox,  or  a  graminivorous  beast  with  the  claws  exalted  his  mind-  Men,  who  have  experienced 
and  teeth  of  a  panther  ;  should  a  granivorous  evils  which  are  really  of  a  trivial  nature,  should 
bird  have  the  talons  and  beak  of  an  eagle,  or  a  be  in  haste  to  forget  them.  These  things  may 
bird  of  prey  have  the  broad  bill  and  webbed  appear  important  to  themselves;  but  why 
feet  of  a  goose  or  a  mallard ;  how  great  would  should  they  suppose  them  sufficiently  interest- 
be  our  amazement  ?  If  there  were  no  sounds,  ing  to  engage  the  attention  of  others  ?  But  if 
what  would  be  the  use  of  the  ear?  or,  to  speak  the  misfortunes  be  irremediable,  the  only  thing 
more  philosophically,  if  the  collision  or  move-  that  then  remains  is  to  suffer  with  dignity, 
ment  of  bodies  occasioned  no  agitation  in  the  Such  were  the  observations  we  once  made- 
air,  or  any  other  fluid,  is  it  reasonable  to  sup-  to  Elmore,  when  he  seemed  disposed  to  com- 
pose that  nature  would  have  given  us  on  appa-  plain  of  the  severity  of  his  lot. 
ratus  for  hearing?  If  there  were  no  odors,  "These  are  the  reasonings  of  a  mind  or 
would  she  have  placed  the  nose,  that  mighty  ease,"  said  Elmore;  "did  I  occupy  a  conspi- 
promontory,  in  the  most  conspicuous  part  of  cuous  station,  I  could  suffer  with  dignity  ;  but 
the  countenance  ?  Yet,  we  think  we  have  when  1  patiently  submit  to  grievous  and  almost 
discovered  something  as  wonderful  as  a  nose  intolerable  evils,  who  will  look  on  and  applaud 
without  odors,  an  ear  without  sounds,  an  eye  my  persevering  fortitude  ?  Socrates  might 
without  light,  or  any  of  the  rest  of  those  won-  suffer  persecution,  imprisonment,  death  :  he 
derfdt  things,  we  have  mentioned.  We  have  was  sure  of  an  immortal  reward.  A  monu- 
observed  in  man  a  propensity  to  complain,  but  ment  to  his  name  will  be  found  in  the  breast 
no  disposition  to  listen  to  complaints.  Why  of  every  good  man  till  time  shall  be  no  more, 
did  nature,  when  she  gave  him  that  ardent  But  what  hope  can  support  an  obscure  indi- 
desire  of  awakening  sympathy,  render  the  vidual  under  the  pressure  of  calamities  ?"  And 
means  he  employs,  for  that  purpose,  totally  what  will  he  gain,  we  replied,  by  useless  re- 
nugatory  by  denying  him  a  disposition  to  listen  pinings  ?  If  he  have  a  high  opinion  of  his 
to  complaintg  of  distress  ?    Are  we  to  suppose  own  intellectual  importance,  why  should  he  not 


M  THE  SAVACE, 

endcnvor  to  preserve  his  oion  esteem  ?     Tint  is  I  liave  done  q^reater  tliingfs  than  these !     Yel 

a  m;itlor  of  no  stn;ill  cun^^iqiicncc.      K.?  cannot  I  much   fear"  continued   he,  assuming  a  sor- 

■evcn  cylcfin   himsrll"  s;j    hiriilv,  after    liuvin.nf  rowfu!  countenance,  "  that  I  siiall  not  be  dei- 

eriviMi  \v,.y  to  ijiim;ui!y  conr)l;.ints,  :is  lie  would  ficd  nei''ier  before  nor  aflcr  mydoulli.     I  Khali 

linvc  done  li.id    lie    su;)i>oilcd   his   inisfortuoes  never  become  a  new  st.ir  in  the  tiil  of  Aries  ; 

with  stnical    coolness    ;iiid    rcsohjtion.     If  he  nor  shall   Chancer  draw  in    his    daws    for  me. 

have  any  rcijard  for  the  s.mctily  of  liis  feelings.  No  new  planet  will  be  christened  Tom  Rattle; 

why  shuulil  he  bo  solieilous  to  expose  his  sor-  nor  slmll  I  drink  nectar,  with  a  purple  mouth, 

■rows  to  vulvar  minds  who  aro  ali!;c  incupiible  amon;r  the  gods  above  I 

of   ju^stly  iipi)reciatinT  his    coniiJonce,  r.nd  of       This  morning  I  was  the  happiest  of  mortals  ; 

judging  of  the  iicut.mess  of  his   sensations?  and  promised    myself  a  wliolc  d  ly  of  felicity. 

But  ifhe  raurJt  c:<i!!p!.an, '  verily  he  sliall  have  I  was  all  life  and  liilarily  ;  nor  did  I  feci  cue 

liis    rowurd  :"  *' i'oor   Elmore'."  the  easy   fyt  gloomy  presentiment  of  approaching  evil.  But 

foolish  world  will  ■>b'<orvi',  "  Poor  Elmore !  he  now,  my   spirits  have  fleJ,  and   my  joys  have 

had  some  good  <pialities,  i«<" for  the  con-  vanished  forever  J 

tcmpuous  "  fciit"  is  sur.  to  succeed  every  ex-  _,  „      ,        y  ,,         ,,         .       ,        . 

•  t  41  n  .„„    «i,^    ...  -1  1  in    „,;„  I  Fnrewell,  a  lonot  farswell,  to  all  mv  lauchtpr! 

pression    ot "  D  mn    the    world!       cried  «,,;,,,,,  ,he  (bre  of  To.n;  firs    he  put  font, 

Llmorcm  a  transport  o    /ury,  '  I  want  not  ,ts  y^^^  ,g,,,|^.,  jeaves  of  hope;  and  soon  he  blos- 
pity  nor  condolence.    Ill  eoin|;lain,  it  is  nv;nig  3o.^l'd 

to   llie   weakness  of  humr.n  nature,   and    not  And  bore  his  smiltis  and  graces  thick  about  him: 

with    the    hopes    of  exciting    commiseration.  RmJ,  ah!  there  came  a  frost,  a  killing  Irost, 

The  wretch  vvho  (iies  alone  in  a  dungeon,  or  And     when  he    thought,  goad    easy  soul,  full 
in  the  wilderness   a  thousand   miles    trom    the  surely,  .        ,    . 

haunts  of  men,  where  there  is  no  eye  to  pity  'A^.V.ifi'.^tr'f  "f '.''  ^'"^'■'"^' -^"PP^'^  ^'^  """o'' 
nor  hand  to  succor,  miy  utter  groans   of  an- 


And  then  he  fell— 


guish,  but   he   ciiinot  look  tor    pity  from  the  But  my  soul  shudders  at  the  depth  of  my  mis- 

trc.  s   of  the  forest,  or    from   be.sis  of  prey."  fortunes!     The  sccu  "ity  of  mj  mind  on  t!ie 

Elmore  departed :  we  had  touched  liis  pride;,  very  brink  of  destruction  is  truly  astonishing: 

but  he  \v;is  not  cured  of  his  error.  no  flitting  bird,  no  gloomy  cloud,  no  muttering 

Elmore  w.is  scarcely  gone  before  we  received  tlumders  excited  any  apprehension  of  the   ca- 

a  visit  from  Tom  Rattle.     Tom   may  truly  be  limity  that  was  about  to   overwhelm  me  I     I 

called  an  odd  kind  of  an  animal ;  for  we  are  in-  walked,  T  sang;  in   the  gaiety  of  my  heart,  I 

clincd  to  believe  that  nature  never  firmed  but  danced    tlirough    the    streets ;    when,    whom 

one  of  the  kind.     He  came  in  singing;  and  should  I  meet  but — my  aunt  Sarah  Poorly! — 

having  danced  several  times  round  us  and  put  Had  I   encounterefi   a  giant  or   a   lion — liad  I 

every  thing  out  of  order,  he  suddenly  stopped,  met  the  dog  of  hell,  or  the    triform   Chimera, 

and    staring    directly    our    face,    exclaimed,  my  valor  miglit  ,have   been  serviceable;    but 

"  Well :  here  I  am,  thank  God,  safe  and  sound,  here — wliat  was  to  be  done  ? 

after  all   my  hairbreadth 'scapes   and   marvel-  \ „,.„„,  ,i,„  o«™  „  .,^,,,„.,t  ;^  »,;„    .„.. 

,           1                 1    nw                       111,  — As  one  wiio  sees  a  serpent  m  his  way, 

bus  adventures  !    Do  you  remember  the  labors  oiislcnnig  and  basking  in  the  summer's  ray, 

of  Hercules?     I   have  forget  them  all  but  one  Disordered  stops,  to  shun  ihe  danger  near,— 

— no  matter — He  went  down  to  hell,  (whether  Then  walks  with  faintness  on, "and  looks  with 

by  the  way  of  Averuus  or   not,  I   cannot  tell)  fear— 

for  the  the  three-headed   dog  C-crbcrus.     The  So  did  poor  Tom  ! 

snarling   cur    saw    him    approach,  raised    his  But  all  m  vain  :  at  once  my  highblown  pride 

Ihree  heads,  and  barked  tremendously  :  ..11  hell  iir„ke  under  me ;  and  all  my  pleasures  left  rae, 

jesound'.^d  with  his  yelping.     Hercules  raised  Sullen  and  sad  and  angry,  to  the  mercy 

his  club.     The  dog  retreated,  and  took  refuge  Of  a  long  tongue,  that  must  forever  haunt  me. 

under  the  iron  throne  of  Pluto.     Hercules  ap-  Vain  idle  praiers  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye, 

nroaehed— Cerberus  snarled— Pluto  raised  his  ^^ilh  everlasting  haired  !  O  how  wretched 

rusty  hiJent.     Let  the  doer  alone,  said  Pluto  }S,  ^^^^  P""""  ,"''»"•  '^'^'^  ^'.'^  ^""^  g^^P^S'  ^"^  ^'^^^"^ 

You  be  damned,  said  Hercules;  and  reaching  To  neverendmg  stones! 

out  his  hand,  he  dragged  the  howling  im.nster  Tom  had  proceeded  tlius  far  before  we  gave 
forth,  and  bore  him  in  triumph  to  the  earth,  him  any  interruption  ;  but  as  we  saw  no  pros- 
Was  that  heroic?  I  have  done  soinettiing  pect  of  his  bringing  his  story  to  a  conclusion, 
greater  than  that!  Samson  slew  a  thousand  we  laid  aside  our  papers,  and  desired  him  to 
rnen ;  I  have  dime  something  greater  than  sit  down  and  let  us  hear  the  "story  of  his 
4hat.  It  w.is  not  I  that  shot  Python,  slew  the  woes,"  adding,  that  we  would  endeavor  to 
Hydia,  or  killed  the  boar  of  Calydonia;  but  I  sympathize  with  him  under  his  atHictions. 
have  done  great  things  than  these!  It  was  "Alas!"  said  Tom,  "I  am  afraid  you  can  af- 
not  I  that  slew  the  Minotaur,  cut  off  Medusa's  ford  me  but  little  consolation;  but  I  shall  at 
head,  or  cleaned  the  stables  of  Augeas ;  but  I  least  enjoy  the  mournful  pleasure  of  pouring 
have  done  greater  things  than  these!  It  was  my  sorrows  into  the  bosom  of  a  friend, 
not  I  that  robbed  the  Hesperian  gardens.  It  is  pleasant  to  look  back  on  troubles  that 
•brought  away  the  golden  fleece,  or  heaped  Pe-  are  past ;  but  we  contemplate  the  difficulties, 
jlion  on  01ympus,and  Ossa  on  Pclion ;  no :  but  with  which  we  arc  surrounded,  with  the  ut- 


THE  SAVAGE. 


47 


most  impatience.  I  hate  already  performed 
wonders,  as  I  toli)  you ;  but  I  am  yet  involved 
in  the  greatest  milbrlunes :  l)ence,t!icse  tears. 
I  sat  (hree  hours,  three  long  hours,  "like  Pa- 
tience  on  a  monument  smiling  at  grief,"  and 
listened  to  the  complaints  of  aunt  S.ir^h  Poorly. 
I  knew  that  wlien  evils  are  unavoidiible,  there 
nothing  remains  for  a  philosopher,  lil'.c  me, 
but  patient  endurance  ;  I  there'bre  summoned 
my  fortitude,  heroism,  and  stoicism,  to  my  as- 
sistance, and  determined  to  snflor,  without  a 
murmur,  all  tiic  rigors  of  my  destiny.  1  have 
escaped  for  once,  as  you  see ;  but  new  trials 
await  me.  My  aunt  Sarali  Poorly  is  rich,  and 
she  is  old.  She  has  been  so  kind  as  to  11  Iter 
me  with  tiie  hopes  of  succeeding  to  her  estate, 
when  she  shall  leave  the  vanities  of  this  transi- 
tory world  to  partake  of  the  joys  of  tlie  next. 
But,  though  she  speaks  witli  rapture  of  tlic 
pleasures  that  await  her  ivhc;i  time  shiiU  be  no 
more,  still  she  seems  inclined  to  linger  in  this 
'vale  of  tears' as  long  as  slie  possibly  can. 
And  .as  long  as  she  favors  the  world  witii  her 
presence,  she  must  talk  ;  and  she  must  liavc 
an  auditor.  I  have  neglected  her  for  some 
time  past,  and  was  really  appreh(;iis've  that  I 
had  incurred  her  displeasure  ;  but  now  she  has 
laid  lier  commands  on  me  to  see  her  oilen 
What  shall  I  do  ?  If  I  offend  her,  I  know  the 
consequence ;  and,  as  I  am  a  poor  devil,  her 
fortune  would  be  very  convenient  If  I  humor 
her  propensity  for  talking,  alas,  I  sliall  never 
live  to  enjoy  the  good  things  she  has  promised 
me! 

A  dire  dilemma!  eitiier  way  I'm  sped  : 

A  foe,  she'll  starve— a  friend,  she'll  talk  me  dead ! 

My  brother  Sam  was  her  first  favorite.  He 
listened  to  lier  complaints  for  eighteen  months  ; 
but  he  could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  ran  away, 
and  went  to  sea.  After  he  had  enjoyed  the 
pleasures  of  navigation  for  some  timi ,  lie  con- 
cluded to  pay  his  court  again  to  my  aunt;  but 
in  vain  :  she  was  seriously  oltended,  and  would 
never  be  reconciled  to  him  any  more. 

Your  humble  servant  has,  of  late,  found 
grace  in  her  siglit:  and  ifl  attend  to  her  com- 
plaints,  siie  is  kind  and  generous  beyorrd  mea- 
sure;  but  ifl  show  the  least  impatience,  or 
even  yawn,  while  she  expatiates  on  her  sor- 
rows, I  am  sure  to  awaken  her  displeasure. 

Would  j?iie  permit  me  to  join  in  llie  conver- 
sation, I  think  that,  in  time,  custom  would 
render  my  situation  tolerable;  (for  you  know, 
Piomingo,  that  I  am  a  little  addietedto  talking 
myself;)  but  the  only  tiling  she  will  permit 
is  the  occasional  interjection  of  groans,  assents, 
and  expressions  of  surprise.  Thus  j'ou  see  I 
am  subjected  to  a  double  mislbrtune :  I  am 
denied  the  gratification  of  talking  myself,  and 
compelled  to  listen  to  the  dull  uninteresting 
complaints  of  a  whirling  old  woman.  Some- 
times, indeed,  when  she  talks  of  an  obstinate 
cough,  or  of  an  acute  pain  in  the  side,  I  feel 
myself  roused  by  a  momentary  attention  to  the 
subject  of  her  discourse.    On  such  occasions, 


a  faint  hope  (shall  I  acknowledge  it?)  a  faint 
hope,  that  death  will  speedily  remove  her  from 
this  troublesome  world  to  those  delights  that 
await  her  beyond  the  grave,  makes  me  listen 
whh  something  like  pleasure  to  her  dolorous 
etfusions." 

We  had  now  permitted  Tom  to  go  on  with 
his  story  for  a  considerable  time;  and  we  be- 
gan to  think  that  we  were  condemned  to  listen 
as  long  to  his  complaints,  as  he  was  compell'jd 
to  attend  to  his  aunt's ;  we  there'bre  thought 
proper  to  make  an  attempt  to  partake  of  the 
discourse.  V/e  made  several  wise  observations 
concerning  the  intei  mixture  of  ;iood  and  evil 
in  this  transitory  world;  mentioned  many 
maxims  of  the  ancient  philosophers  and  pnets, 
which  inculcate  the  necessity  of  subniilting  to 
fate ;  dwelt,  for  a  considerable  time,  on  some 
observations  of  Seneca,  which  we  thouTht 
might  be  usefin  to  a  man  in  Rfittle's  situation; 
strongly  recommended  th^t  philoso[)hical  pa- 
nacoa,  putience,  as  an  unfiiling  remedy  for 
every  disease;  and  concluded  by  desirino-  to 
be  ini'-.rmed  of  the  parliculus  of  his  hte'ren. 
counter  with  his  aunt. 

Tom  leaned  back  in  his  cliair,  and  stretch- 
ing out   his   arm,   exclaimed   in    a  theatrical 
tone, 
"  My  friend,  what  you  command  me  to  relate 
Renews  the  sad  remembrance  of  my  fate: 
My  pleasures  from  their  old  foundations  rent, 
And  every  wo  that  Rattle  underwent. 
No  sooner  had   my  aunt  espied   me,  than  she 
exclaimed,  "  My  dear  cousin,  I'm   rejoiced  to 
see  yon.     I  was  just   tiiinsing  of  you.     Hov/ 
can   you   absent  yourself  so  long,  when  you- 
know   I   delight  in   your   company  ?     I   have 
been  up  to  see  poor  Caty  Cackle— her  husband 

sick— five  or  six  poor  half  starved  children 

nobody  to  do  any  thing— a  distressed  fiimily, 
cousin.  I  did  what  I  cnu'd  ;  but  there  is  so 
much  distress  in  the  -a  orld — Bless  me  !  don't 
let  us  St  I  lid  here.  No:  not  that  way — let  us 
go  by  Third  street.  What  a  full  market! 
Well,  how  they  do  push  and  elbow  each  other! 
— every  one  for  himself  Did  you  observe 
that  mun,  who  just  now  passed  us  ?  I  tliink  I 
should  know  him.  I  beo-i.4  to  feel  fatigued.. 
We  sliill  soon  be  ho'ne.    Aii  that  w'leelbar'rovv  ! 

—  take   care   of  the    wheelbarrow,   cousin  I 

there  's  no  vv;.lking  for  wheelbarrowsl  That's 
Mr.  Ziny.  Here  before  us.  Well:  I  have 
seen  his  father  wli  el  oysters — a  strange  world 
this  I  such  ups  and  downs !     Thank  God,  no 

relation  of  mine Home  at  last — quite  ex 

h.fusted — no  place  like  home.  Betsey,  has 
Dr.  Sinative  b,  en  here  ?  Cousin,  take  a  chair 
— sit  nigh  the  fire — th^>  morning  is  cool.  Cold 
weathei  is  my  aversion.  How  strangely  I'm 
altered:  a  few  years  aga,  no  cold  couldatfect 
me;  but  now,  if  I  stir  out,  I'm  sure  to  c.itch 
cold.  All  the  clothing  don't  seem  to  keep  me 
warm;  but  my  feet  get  dump;  and  then  I'm 
sure  of  a  fresh  attack  on  my  breast — hem — 
hem.  I  hope  this  walk  will  do  me  no  injury? 
but  I'm  strangely  altered  of  late — I  begin  to 


48 


THE  SAVAGE. 


feel  the  infirmities  of  old  age,  A  walk  used 
always  to  revive  me ;  but  now — I  can't  tell 
how— I  think  it's  rather  a  disadvantage. 
Would  you  believe  it,  cnisin  ?  the  other  day  I 
was  taken  with  a  kind  of  dizxyness — a  singing 
in  my  ears — a  loss  of  sight — and  if  I  had  not 
leaned  on  something  (I  forget  what  it  was)  I 
should  have  fallen.  Well :  I  hope  tliese  warn- 
ings will  not  be  lost  on  me.  Death  is  a  friend 
to  the  afflieted  ;  and  I  have  had,  God  knows, 
my  share  of  affliction.  I  shall  at'end  the  sum- 
mons  with  joy — I  hope  I'm  prepared  for  the 
change.  The  doctor  says  my  giddiness  was 
owing  to  an  empty  stomach.  Indeed  I  had 
eaten  nothing  that  morning.  I  have  a  very 
poor  appetite — sometimes  I  don't  eat  an  ounce 
in  twenty  four  hours.  Cousin,  I  can't  stand 
it  long.  Such  a  complication  of  diseases : 
rheumatism — pain  in  my  side — hacking  cough 
— flatulencies — dizziness — general  debility — 
and  then  old  age.  I'm  now  in  my  sixty-ninth 
year — no,  1  shall  be  sixty-eight  next  christmas. 
How  time  slips  away  '.  it  seems  but  yesterday 
that  I  was  a  child — what  a  romp  I  was! — my 
poor  old  mother  used  to  call  me  a  perfect 
hoyden.  What  a  change  has  taken  place  in  a 
few  years!  I  think,  someh<JW  or  other,  I'm 
very  unfortunate.  Tiiere's  old  Jolm  Stout— he's 
almost  eighty  years  of  age ;  and  walks  without 
a  cane.  But  we  must  submit  to  our  lot — ay, 
the  Lord  teaches  us  submission  !  Dr.  Sanative 
says  that  my  symptoms  are  not  dangerous.  He 
tells  me  they  are  owing  to  indigestion ;  and 
that  the  crudities — but  I  cannot  remember 
now  what  he  said  they  were  owing  to:  how- 
ever he  made  it  perfectly  plain  at  the  time. 
He  says  that  nourishing  diet  and  gentle  exer- 
cise will  restore  my  health — the  Lord's  will  be 
done  !  You  can't  think,  cousin,  how  my  sight 
has  failed  of  late  !  In  a  few  years,  at  this  rate, 
I  shall  be  quite  blind.  Loid  ble.ss  me  I  it 
would  be  a  great  trial   to  lose   my  sight;  but 

the  doctor "  Here,  as  the  gods  would  have 

it,  tiiere  was  a  cry  of  fire  in  the  street ;  and  I 
started  up  and  made  my  escape.  She  called 
after  me,  however,  and  said  that  she  must  see 
me  every  other  day  at  the  least.  You  are  not 
to  suppose,  Piomingo,  that  I  have  related  the 
one  hundredth  part  of  her  discourse.  No  :  I 
have  only  mentioned  some  of  her  observations  : 
She  talked  three  full  hours — what  an  eternity! 
And  during  the  whole  course  of  the  harangue, 
it  is  expected  that  I  should  sit  perfectly  still, 
keeping  my  eyes  fixed  continually  on  the 
speaker,  without  taking  any  other  part  in  the 
conversation  than  barely  giving  the  requisite 
assents  and  negations ;  and  judiciously  inter- 
posing- such  expressions  of  admiration  as  the 
following:  so!  indeed  !  is  it  possible?  strange  ! 
surprising !  amazing  !  good  God !  who  would 
have  thought  it  ?  And  these  interjectory  ex- 
clamations are  not  to  be  thrown  in  at  random. 
No  :  very  far  from  it :  they  are  to  be  suited  to 
the  changes  of  the  discourse,  and  the  emotions 
of  the  speaker.  Should  I  at  any  time  give  a 
nod  of  assent  instead  of  a  sigii  of  regret,  the 


mistake  would  be  fatal.  What  shall  I  do, 
Piomingo?  shall  I  live  or  die  ?  shall  I  have 
recourse  to  the  bowl  or  dagger  ?  or  shall  I 
precipitate  myself  into  the  river  ?  You  would 
not  surely  have  me,  in  the  heyday  of  youth,  to 
sit, '  with  serious  sadness,'  and  listen  to  the 
everlasting  croakings  of  this  sorrow-bringing 
raven !" 

Piomingo.  Levius  fit  patientia,  quicquid  cor- 
rigere  est  nefas. 

Tom  Rattle.  Curse  your  heathen  lingo!  let 
us  have  plain  English  ;  but  I  believe  you  re- 
commend patience.  O  yes,  it  is  very  easy  to 
give  advice,  and  talk  about  patience !  but  if 
you  were  in  my  place  I  fancy 

Piomingo.  Dear  Tom,  I  give  you  example, 
as  well  as  precept. 

'lom  Rattle.  How  so? 

Piomingo.  Have  I  not  listened  to  your  dole- 
ful complaints,  as  long  as  you  did  to  your 
aunt's? 

Tom  Rattle.  Good  by. 

Piomingo.  Good  by,  Tom. 

THE  SAVAGE— NO.  X. 

Slavery. 
Slavery,  as  established  in  the  West  Indies 
and  the  southern  parts  of  the  Union,  is  only  a 
kind  of  premature,  or  forced,  civilization.  Men 
who  had  a  taste  for  the  luxurious  enjoyments 
of  the  old  world  were  dissatisfied  with  the  state 
of  society  in  which  they  were  placed :  there 
was  so  much  savage  equality  among  the  peo- 
ple, that  they  were  unable  to  procure  laborers. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  Must  every  man  work 
for  himself?  "  Horrible  idea !"  said  an  ora- 
tor,  on  the  foregoing  question  being  asked  in 
one  of  their  legislative  assemblies,  "  Horrible 
idea !  Shall  we  who  came  from  a  civilized 
country,  where  the  good  work  of  refinement 
had  progressed  so  far  that  a  man  might  be 
bought  for  four  pence  a  day,  be  under  the  ne- 
cessity of  maintaining  ourselves  by  our  own 
individual  exertions?  Shall  we  who  have 
tasted  the  sweets  of  power,  have  no  one  to 
whom  we  may  give  directions,  and  utter  the 
mandates  of  authority  ?  We  cannot  make 
servants  of  each  other  ;  for,  our  settlement  in 
this  barbarous  country  has  brought  us  to  a 
state  of  equality.  The  land  is  fertile  beyond 
conception,  and  repays,with  abundant  harvests, 
the  careless  labors  of  the  most  indolent  culti-  * 
vator.  Where  men  find  it  so  easy  to  supply 
all  their  necessities,  there  is  nothing  will  in- 
duce them  to  sweat  in  our  fields,  or  become 
assiduous  attendants  in  our  houses.  Could  we 
deny  them  the  privilege  of  cultivating  the 
earth,  and  reduce  them  to  a  state  of  starvation, 
then,  indeed,  we  might  find  them  suitable  in- 
struments for  the  gratification  of  our  refined 
propensities,  and  for  the  promotion  of  our  sub- 
limated  enjoyments ;  but,  under  existing  cir- 
cumstances, this  is  wholly  impracticable. 
Could  we  content  ourselves  with  meat,  drink, 
and  clothing,  and  be  satisfied  to  dwell  in  hovels 


THE  SAVAGE. 


49 


merely  calculated  to  repel  the  inclemencies  of 
the  weather,  every  man  might  supply  his-own 
wants;  but  we  have  been  used  to  better  things. 
We  must  have  towering  palaces,  lordly  equi- 
pages, and  soft  luxurious  indulgences.  Now, 
as  these  things  cannot  he  enjoyed  without  the 
subjection  and  distress  of  a  v.ist  in^ijority  of 
the  inhabitants  of  any  country,  it  therefore 
follows  that  we  must  reduce  to  poverty  and 
wretchedness  a  mult.jtude  of  our  fellow  crea- 
tures, that  we,  a  little  flock,  may  be  affluent 
and  idle.  It  appears  somewhat  unjust,  we 
must  acknowledge,  that  the  happiness  of  the 
many  should  be  sacrificed,  in  order  that  the 
.few  may  parlake  of  the  feverish  enjoyments  of 
luxury  and  power.  But  why  should  we  mor- 
alize on  the  subject?  VVe  must  have  luxury 
and  magnificence;  and  as  luxury  and  magni- 
ficence cannot  be  procured  or  supported  with- 
out misery  and  want,  we  must  have  misery 
and  want.  Could  we  content  ourselves  to  wait 
the  slow  progress  of  civilization,  the  necessary 
quantum  of  wretchedness  would  undoubtedly 
be  produced.  Property  will  accumulate  in  the 
hands  of  certain  fortunate  individuils;  others 
will  becosne  poor.  The  rich  will  grow  proud, 
luxurious,  overbearing;  and  tlie  poor  will  be- 
come obsequious,  degraded,  vicious,  miserable. 
There  will  be  nothing  but  arrogiincc  and  dis- 
sirtinlation,  oppression  and  distress,  the  tyrant 
and  (he  si  ive.  The  seeds  ofcivilizalion,  which 
we  brought  from  our  native  shores  have  already 
taken  root:  and  the  golden  fruit  of  slavery  will 
inevitiibly  be  produced.  But  many  centuries 
must  elapse  ere  it  ripen :  and  life,  alas,  is  short. 
We  must  be  numbered  with  the  dead  long  be- 
fore a  sufficiency  of  poverty  will  exist  to  answer 
our  purposes.  Can  we  make  use  of  no  artifi- 
cial he  ts  that  will  hasten  the  growth  of  civil- 
ization ?  Let  us  introduce  domestic  and 
hereditary  slavery  :  although  we  live  in  a  bar- 
baroiis  country,  we  m:iy  enjoy  all  those  advan- 
tages that  flow  from  the  wisdom  and  experience 
of  ages.  This  will  be  compendious  civilization." 
Thus  spoke  the  counsellor  Tl  e  multitude 
applauded ;  and  made  haste  to  follow  his  ad- 
vice. 

Now,  although  we  will  not  undertake  to  say 
that  the  first  settlers  in  the  West  Indies,  or 
any  where  else,  made  use  of  such  reasonings 
as  the  foregoing;  yet  we  have  no  hesitation  in 
declaring  that  the  true  cause  of  the  introduc- 
tion of  this  species  of  slavery  was  the  difiicully 
experienced  in  procuring  those  services  which 
are  easily  obtained  in  civilized  communities. 
Domestic  slavery  never  originates  but  among 
a  barbarous  people — bat  among  a  people  wht  re 
considerable  equality  prevails — but  among  a 
peopleNi^ho  are  neither  poor  nor  rich,  and 
where  the  disparity  of  ranks,  which  is  fostered 
by  thf^  arts  of  refinement  and  civilization,  is 
unknown.  A  savage  people  eager  to  grasp  at 
the  luxuries  of  life  have  no  other  way  to  gratify 
their  desires,  but  by  the  introduction  of  domes- 
tic  slavery.  Refined  and  polished  nations 
never  have  recourse  to  this  expedient :  eight- 


tenths  of  the  population  being  already  in  a 
state  of  downright  slavery.  Why  has  not 
African  slavery  been  introduced  into  England 
and  other  parts  of  Europe,  as  well  as  into  the 
West  Indies  and  the  United  States  ?  This 
forbearance,  certainly,  could  not  be  ow'ng  to 
any  religious  or  moral  motive.  To  enslave 
oppress  and  destroy  a  man  in  one  place  is  as 
great  a  crime  as  to  oppress  enslave  and  destroy 
him  in  another.  The  labors  of  the  sugar  plan- 
tations in  the  islands,and  of  the  gold  and  silver 
mines  on  the  continent  of  America  are  carried 
on  by  African  slaves ;  why  then  do  they  not 
also  cultivate  the  fields  of  England,  France  and 
Spain  ?  For  this  plain  reason  :  a  white  slave 
can  be  hired  for  less  than  would  maintain  a 
black  one.  Hence  it  is  plain,  that  there  is  no 
motive,  no  temptation,  to  induce  the  rulers  of 
a  polished  naion  to  permit  the  introduction  of 
domestic  or  personal  slaves  ;  and  therefore  they 
are  entitled  to  no  praise  on  that  account.  VVe 
have  often  been  amused  with  the  boasting  rant 
of  English  poets  and  orators,  on  this  subject. 
They  declaim  with  vehement  passion  concern- 
inor  the  miseries  and  distresses  to  which  the 
Africans  are  subjected  in  the  West  India  plan- 
tations; and  at  the  same  time  eulogize  the 
English  constitution,  which  gives  freedom  to 
every  slave  who  may  touch  the  British  shores. 
Now  this  is  nity  nonsense:  the  price  of  labor 
is  so  low  in  Great  Britain,  that  a  slave,  which 
you  would  be  compelled  to  maintain  in  sum- 
mer and  winter,  in  sickness  and  health,  in 
youth  and  old  age,  and  supply  with  all  the 
necessaries  of  life,  would  be  an  expensive  in- 
cumbrance. No,  no,  the  English  are  much 
given  to  encourage  domestic  manufactures ; 
and  the  slaves  manufactured  in  the  united 
kingdom  are  fully  sufficient  to  answer  every 
demand  for  domestic  consumption  ;  and  furn- 
ish a  few,  as  usual,  for  exportation. 

From  what  has  been  said,  it  appears  per- 
fectly  plain  that  tliisepecies  of  slavery,  which 
for  distinction's  sake  we  have  denominated  do- 
mestic  slavery,cannot  be  introduced  into  a  civil- 
ize! c  immunity,  because  the  market  is  already 
over  stocked  with  this  same  commodity  ;  and 
when  the  market  is  glutted  with  any  article  of 
trade,  the  merchant  will  be  a  loser  who  trans- 
mits a  fresh  supply.  Although  a  slave  may 
be  valuable  among  the  present  semi-savage  in- 
habitants of  the  United  States,  yet,  if  we  look 
forward,  through  five  or  si.x  centuries,  to  a 
time,  when  all  the  western  lands,  now  unoc- 
cupied, shall  teem  with  population.  When  the 
venerable  forests  shall  be  forgotten,  and  cul- 
tured fields  and  smiling  villages  be  seen  in 
every  direction  :  when  fifty  Londons  shall  be 
found  on  the  seaboard,  and  a  thousand  Bir- 
minghams  in  the  interior  ;  when  laborers  may 
be  hired  for  six  cents  a  day — then,  who  will  be 
willing  to  give  a  thousanil  dollars  for  an  Afri- 
can slave  ?  The  country  will  be  then  so 
thoroughly  civilized,  and  white  slaves  will  be 
so  numerous,  that  we  shall  hear  no  more  of 
fi'esh  importations  from  Africa.     Hence-  it  fol- 


50  THE  SAVAGE. 

lows  that,  when  the  necessnry  quantum  of  Schnolnt aster.  At  my  select  academy  — — 
slavery  shall  be  produced  by  the  progress  of  Piominfxo.  Piirdnn  me,  my  dear  sir,  for  the 
refineitunt  and  civilizition,  the  Africans  will  present  intcrruptinn — what  do  you  mean  by 
gain  (heir  manumission:  tliat  is,  they  will  academy  T  D)  you  instruct  your  scholars  in  a 
cease  t )  be  slaves  to  individuals,  and  become  place  resembling  the  inclosure  where  Plato 
slaves  to  the  community  of  the  opulent.  And,  laught  philosophy  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilys- 
after  a  minute  and  careful  investigation  of  the    sus  ? 

subject,  we  eive  it  as  our  candid  and  deliberate        Schoolmaster-  Plato  ! — I  have  not  read  Plato 

opinion,  that  they  will  lose  bv  tlie  change.  since   I  was  a  boy — O,  now   I   remember,  he 

[To  be  continued,        was  a  celebrated   schoolmaster:  he  taught  an 

academy    at    Athens.     Academy,  sir,    is    the 

The  Schoolmaster.  Latin  for  school.      No   genteel   teacher  now 

A  man  of  about  fifty  years  of  age  came,  the  ever  makes  use  of  the  word  school.  We  have 
other  day,  into  our  study.  He  addressed  us  nothing  but  academies:  dancing,  drawing, 
in  a  pompous  formal  manner,  and  desired  to  riding,  fencing,  academies:  and  academies  for 
know  if  we  had  a  family.  We  tliouglit  it  a  the  instruction  of  young  ladies  and  gentlemen 
little  singular  that  a  stranger  should  take  the  m  all  the  branches  of  polite  and  useful  litera- 
liberty  to  inquire  into  our   private   concerns ;   ture. 

therefore  we  made  no  direct  answer  to  his  Piomingo.  Thank  you  sir :  yon  have  satis- 
authoiitative  demand,  but  desired  to  know,  in  fied  me  on  that  point.  You  were  about  to  in- 
our  turn,  if  he  were  taking  the  census.  "No,  form  me  what  branches  were  taught  in  your 
sir,"  said  he,  "I  am  a  schoolmaster;  and  as  select  academy  for  the  instruction  of  young 
you  have  lately  settled  in  our  neighborhood,  I   gentlemen. 

did  not  know  but  you  might  have  some  chil-  Schoolmaster.  Yes  sir :  ai  my  select  academy 
dren  to  whom  you  might  wish  to  give  a  chris-  for  the  instruction  of  young  gentlemen  are 
tian  education.  You  are,  yourself,  they  tell  taught  reading,  chirography,  arithmetic,  book- 
me,  a  savage  ;  and  it  is  likely  you  will  not  be  keeping,  geography  with  the  use  of  the  globes 
disposed  to  give  up  the  gods  of  your  fathers,  in  maps  and  charts,  mensuration  of  superficies 
your  old  age;  but  you  could  form  no  objection  and  solids,  longimetry,  altimetry,  gauging, 
I  should  think,  to  the  plan  of  having  your  algebra,  geometry,  trigonometry,  surveying, 
children  instructed  in  the  benign  principles  of  navigation  with  solar  lunar  and  astral  observa- 
the  gospel.  However,  if  you  are  conscientious  tions,  English  grammar,  rhetoric,  composition, 
in  these  things,  I  will  not  undertake  to  inter-  logic,  history,  chronology,  mythology,  philolo- 
pose  with  my  advice.  I  am  a  christian;  you  gy,  natural  philosophv,  astronomy,  and,  in  fine, 
are  a  heathen  :  and  each  has  a  right  to  enjoy  every  branch  of  polite  elegant  and  useful  litera- 
his  respective  opinions;  but  we  may  do  each  ture. — Here  is  one  of  my  cards, 
other  a  good  turn  notwithstanding.  Send  Piomingo.  You  promise  very  fair  :  you  may 
your  sons  to  my  select  academy  for  young  gen-  consider  me  as  a  standing  subscriber  to  your 
tlemen ;  and  I  promise,  upon  my  honor,  that  school — your  select  academy,  I  mean.  I  think 
you  will  have  no  reason  to  repent  that  you  it  my  duty  to  encourage  a  man  of  your  extra- 
have  placed  them  under  my  care.  Furnish  ordinary  endowments ;  but — 
them  with  a  savage  catechism  containing  the  Schoolmaster.  You  may  rest  assured,  my 
principles  of  the  Muscogulgee  religion  ;  and  I  dear  sir,  that  every  attention,  within  the  limits 
shall  use  the  same  exertions  to  have  them  of  my  power,  shall  be  paid  to  the  young  Mus- 
carefully  instructed  in  the  doctrines  of  your  cogulgee  gentlemen,  your  sons,  which  you  are 
savage  forefathers,  that  1  do  to  have  my  other  about  to  intrust  to  my  care.  I  promise  you 
pupils  imbued  with  the  principles  of  chris-  sincerely,  Mr.  Piomingo,  that  I  never  will 
tianity."  abuse  any  confidence  that  is  placed  in  me.     I 

Piomingo.  You  are  very  accommodating,  consider  it  as  a  sacred  duty,  which  I  owe  to  my 
indeed,  my  friend  ;  but  will  you  not  find  it  a  patrons,  to  my  country  and  to  myself,  that  my 
little  difficult  to  inculcate,  at  one  moment,  on  pupils  should  be  not  only  encouraged  in  the 
certain  of  your  scholars,  the  necessity  of  be-  pursuit  of  elegant  and  useful  learning;  but 
lieving  in  the  Indian  doctrines  as  the  dictates  that  their  manners  should  be  formed  in  the 
of  eternal  truth  ;  and,  the  next  instant,  to  in-  most  genteel  style,  and  their  morals  sedulously 
form  another  set  of  your  disciples,  that  what  guarded  from  every  species  of  contamination — 
you  had  just  before  been  dictating  was  a  mere  Here  is  a  copy  of  my  rules — How  many  of  the 
fiction,  and  totally  unworthy  of  credit?  young  gentlemen   do  you  propose  sending  to 

Schoolmaster.  Not  at  all:  I  should  consider   my  select  academy? 
myself,  in   that  case,  as  a   mere   instrument       Piomingo.  I  have  not  any  to  send, 
which  you  had   thought   proper  to  employ  for       Schoolmaster.  Sir! 

the  purpose  of  infusing  into  the  minds  of  your  Piomingo.  If  you  think  proper  to  comply 
offspring  those  principles  that  best  pleased  with  a  requisition  I  am  about  to  make,  I  will 
you.  consider  myself  as  answerable  to  you  for  the 

Piomingo.  You  form  a  very  correct  idea  of  price  of  tuition  of  two  scholars  as  long  as  we 
the  nature  of  your  employment.  Pray  what  continue  neighbors.  I  wish  to  learn  some  of 
do  you  teach  ?  the  secrets  of  your  profession  :  there  are,  you 


THE  SAVAGE. 


51 


know,  secrets  belonging  to  every  trade ;  and  I 
would  gladly  inform  myself  of  the  nature  of 
the  system  of  education  which  is  encouraged 
by  the  illuminati  of  this  flourishing  city.  No 
disadvantage  can  arise  from  your  placing  this 
confidence  in  me  :  I  give  you  my  savage  word, 
that  I  will  never  become  your  rival.  Now,  if 
you  feel  disposed  to  gratify  my  curiosity,  you 
may  consider  me  as  one  of  the  most  zealous  of 
your  patrons. 

Schoolmaster  {after  a  pause).  Sir,  you  are 
right,  when  you  suppose  that  we  gentlemen  of 
the  abecedarian  department  of  literature  have 
little  professional  secrets.  Such  is  the  fact : 
but  it  is  to  be  observed  in  our  favor,  that  we 
Were  forced  into  this  line  of  conduct  by  our 
employers  themselves.  When  we  dealt  hon- 
estly and  openly  with  them,  we  were  in  con- 
tinual danger  of  starvation  ;  but  since  we  have 
had  recourse  to  the  arts  of  deception,  we  find 
teaching  a  very  profitable  business.  When 
men  are  desirous  of  being  deceived,  and  hold 
out  a  reward  for  those  who  become  dexterous 
impostors,  why  should  they  not  be  gratified  in 
so  reasonable  an  expectation  ?  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to  be  so  candid  with  every  one ; 
but  as  I  perceive  that  you  have  too  much 
penetration  to  be  deceived  by  a  string  of  high- 
sounding  words,  and  that  you  already  have  a 
tolerable  idea  of  the  nature  of  those  arts  by 
which  we  iiwZZ  the  wise  men  of  the  earth,  I 
shall  not  hesitate  to  give  you  every  information 
you  may  require. 

Piomingo.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  inform 
me  why  all  the  schools  or  academies  in  the 
city  are  denominated  select  ? 

Schoolmaster.  By  that,  sir,  we  intimate  to 
the  public,  that  we  teach  only  the  children  of 
the  opulent;  and  in  a  country  where  nothmg 
is  found  to  confer  respect  or  celebrity  but  the 
idea  of  wealth,  it  gives  an  air  of  gentility  to 
our  institutions,  which  we  find  highly  useful : 
hundreds  will  send  to  Mr.  Birch's  select  acade- 
my, who  would  have  treated  Thomas  Birch 
and  his  school  with  the  utmost  contempt. 
Multitudes,  who,  by  the  mean  grovelling  arts 
now  in  use,  have  added  cent  to  cent  until  they 
have  amassed  a  considerable  sum,  are  eager  to 
shake  off  and  forget  the  vulgarity  of  their  ori- 
gin by  giving  their  offspring  what  they  call  a 
genteel  education.  Tiiey  are  straining  after 
that  undefinable  something  called  ton  :  and  we 
find  it  to  our  advantage  to  encourage  this  pro- 
pensity in  our  patrons. 

Piomingo.  What  is  ton  1 

Schoolmaster.  The  question  is  easily  asked  ; 
but  I  shall  find  it  difficult  to  give  you  a  satis- 
factory answer.  It  is  something  of  which  we 
may  fb<<m  a  confused  idea  ;  but  which  we  find 
itimpossible  to  describe.  It  is  like  the  urim 
and  thummim  on  the  breastplate  of  the  Jewish 
highpriest:  volumes  have  been  written  to  throw 
light  on  the  subject;  but  it  is  still  involved  in 
darkness  and  mystery.  Among  the  moderns  it 
is  always  found  to  accompany  opulence  and 
splendor.     It  is  a  kind  of  glory  which  sur- 


rounds the  head  of  the  golden  calf,  which  is  set 
up  as  the  object  of  universal  adoration. 

Piomingo.  The  enviable  few,  who  have  ac- 
quired the  high  polish  you  speak  of,  may  be 
known,  1  suppose,  by  their  ease  of  deportment, 
conciliating  address,  and  suavity  of  manners. 

Schoolmaster.  Permit  me  to  set  you  right 
there,  sir :  among  us,  arrogance,  pride,  and 
brutality  of  manners  are  reckoned  eminently 
genteel.  The  graces  and  courtesies,  to  which 
you  allude,  aie  absolutely  unknown  among  the 
gay  world  of  a  commercial  city. 

Piomingo.  How  is  English  grammar  taught 
in  the  select  academies  of  Philadelphia  ? 

Schoolmaster.  Why  sir,  it  became  fashiona- 
ble, a  few  years  ago  to  talk  about  English 
grammar.  We  immediately  look  the  hint: 
and  since  that  time  English  grammar  has  been 
taught  in  all  our  select  academies. 

Piomingo.  Do  you  understand  what  you  pro- 
fess  to  teach  ? 

Schoolmaster.  Understand  ! — not  at  all :  it 
would  be  hard  indeed,  if  we  were  obliged  to 
learn  every  thing  we  profess  to  teach  !  Why 
sir,  we  lay  it  down  as  a  universal  rule  never 
to  appear  ignorant  of  any  thing.  You  may 
observe  that,  in  my  advertisements,  I  do  not 
profess  to  teach  the  Greek  and  Latin  languages: 
you  are  not  to  suppose  that  I  therefore  ac- 
knowledge myself  to  be  ignorant  of  those  lan- 
guages. By  no  means.  Should  any  one  ex- 
press an  inclination  to  have  his  son  instructed 
in  Hebrew,  Greek,  or  Latin,  I  immediately 
reply,  "My  dear  sir,  I  should  be  very  happy 
to  have  a  rlass  of  young  gentlemen,  to  whom 
I  miglit  give  instruction  in  those  languages; 
but  they  have  become  quite  unfashionable  of 
late.  Gentlemen  of  the  first  respectability  in 
the  city,  whose  sons  are  of  course  designed  for 
the  mercantile  profession,  inform  me  that  they 
find  a  knowledge  of  the  dead  languages  alto- 
gether  useless.  They  are  therefore  determined 
that  their  sons  shall  not  be  impeded  in  the  ac- 
quisition of  useful  information  by  filling  their 
heads  with  such  antiquated  rubbish."  Now, 
as  the  business  of  a  merchant  is  the  object  of 
universal  ambition  with  this  money-loving  peo- 
ple, I  always  find  this  answer  pertectly  satis- 
factory and  decisive.  But  I  believe  you  spoke 
of  English  grammar  in  particular. 

Piomingo.  Yes,  sir. 

Schoolmaster.  As  to  grammar,  I  have  taught 
it  in  my  select  academy,  these  seven  or  eight 
years ;  but  if  there  be  any  sense  in  it,  I  must 
acknowledge  that  I  have  never  found  it  out. 
I  however  teach  my  pupils  to  repeat  a  long 
story  about  notins,  pronouns,  verbs,  participles, 
&c.  and  this  answers  every  purpose.  None  of 
my  employers  are  able  to  detect  the  imposition. 
The  young  gentlemen  can  tell  how  many  parts 
of  speech  there  are;  talk  of  nouns  common 
and  proper,  of  transitive  and  intransitive  verbs: 
but  upon  my  honor,  sir,  they  have  no  more  idea 
of  the  meaning  of  what  t;)ey  repeat,  than  I 
have  of  the  language  of  the  antediluvians.  And 
then  it  is  diverting  to  observe  how  the  fond 


fi2 


THE  SAVAGE. 


parents  are  jrratified  by  this  display  of  the 
grammatical  knowledge  of  their  promising 
offspring: ;  and  how  the  fame  of  the  teacher  is 
extended  by  the  philological  intelligence  oi  his 
accomplished  scholars! 

Fiomiiipo.  Am  I  to  suppose  that  you  are 
eqii:illy  ignorant  of  all  Ihe  other  branches  taught 
in  your  select  acad(  my  ? 

Schoolmaster.  No:  I  can  read  tolerably  well; 
but  it  must  be  granted,  at  the  s;  me  time,  that 
I  am  very  apt  to  make  risible  blunders  in  pro- 
nunciation. However,  where  one  reads  better, 
five  hundred  read  worse,  than  I  do.  I  never 
Feem  at  a  loss  :  and  if  any  intelligent  person 
should,  by  accident,  be  present  and  attempt  to 
correct  any  of  my  errors,  I  laugh  at  his  pre- 
sumption ;  and,  as  there  is  always  a  majority 
of  fools  in  every  mixed  company,  I  generally 
come  off  triumphant.  I  write  a  good  hand  ; 
but  do  not  spell  very  correctly.  I  understand 
as  much  arithmetic  as  is  usually  taught  in 
schools  :  and  this  is  the  extent  of  my  scientifi- 
cal  acquirements.  It  must  be  remarked  also 
that  in  the  course  of  a  long  life  I  have  acquired 
a  sniattering  in  various  departments  of  litera- 
ture, which  enables  me  to  put  on  tlie  appear- 
ance of  wisdom,and  to  declaim  with  the  utmost 
pompositv  and  assurance.  1  can  talk  fluently 
of  fifty  diffi'rent  authors,  one  of  which  I  h.ive 
never  read,  and  g^ive  my  opinion  of  their  merits 
respectively.  I  know  that  Homer  is  the  father 
of  poetry ;  that  he  gives  an  account  of  the 
heathen  gods,  and  the  destruction  of  Tmy ; 
that  he  wrote  in  Greek  ;  that  he  was  blind  ; 
and  thai  seven  cities  vvre,  each,  emulous  of 
being  considered  as  the  place  of  his  birth.  I 
know  that  the  Iji^id  is  more  animated  than  the 
Odyssey;  that  Achilles  was  fierce,  and  Lllys- 
ees  crafty  ;  that  the  siege  of  Troy  was  con- 
tinued for  ten  years;  and  that  the  wooden 
horse  proved,  at  last,  the  means  of  its  destruc- 
tion. 

Should  any  one  desire  to  hear  my  opinion  of 
the  respective  merits  of  Homer  and  Virgil,  I 
give,  without  hesitation,  a  decided  opinion  in 
favor  of  the  former,  I  assert,  with  the  great-  st 
promptitude,  that  as  to  genius — (^here,  to  dis- 
play my  erudition,  T  interpose  a  Latin  proverb, 
Poeto  nascitvr,  non  Jit ;  for  you  must  know 
that  I  have  picked  up  four  or  five  scraps  of 
this  kind, which  I  introduce  occasionally  to  the 
great  e<^ification  of  my  hearers,)  that  as  to 
genius,  which  is  the  grand  character  stic  of  a 
poet,  Homer  is  infinitely  superior.  Virgil,  in- 
deed, I  add,  is  more  elaborate  and  correct:  hut 
he  is  indebted  for  almost  every  thing  to  his 
great  predecessor. 

Piomingo.  But  you  certainly  do  not  presume 
to  run  a  parallel  between  these  poets  without 
having  read  the  originals. 

Schoolmaster.  I  assure  you  sir,  that  I  do. 
Without  having  read  the  originals!  I  have 
not  even  read  the  English  translations;  and  I 
cannnot  pronounce,  correctly,  one  in  ten  of  the 
proper  names  that  must  necessarily  occur  in 
those  translations 


Piomingo.  Are  you  not  afraid,  at  times,  of 
exposing  your  ignorance  ? 

Schoolmaster.  Expose  my  ignorance  !  To 
whom  ?  to  people  more  igiioraiit  than  myself? 
My  knowledge,  which  in  reality  is  not  exten- 
sive, when  compared  with  that  of  others,  rises 
in  impoitancc  :  and  what  is  still  better,  my 
character,  as  a  man  of  substance  and  a  profound 
scholar,  is  firmly  csliiblished.  Doyuu  suppose, 
Piomingo,  that  any  intelligent  anin)al,  who 
wears  a  worse  coat  than  I  do,  would  dare  to 
dispute  any  of  my  authoritative  sayings?  I 
should  laugh  in  his  face  if  he  dio  ;  and  my 
laugh  would  be  echoed  by  every  ignorant  pre- 
tender to  knowledge.  No:  nothing  can  injure 
my  literary  reputation  but  the  appearance  of 
p)verty  ;  and  you  may  believe  me,  Piomingo, 
I  endeavor  to  keep  that  at  as  great  a  distance 
as  possible. 

Piomingo.  Although  you  are  continually 
acknowledging  your  ignorance.  I  must  con- 
fess that  I  find  your  convers  tion  very  instruc- 
tive. You  criticise  likewise  the  productions 
of  the  moderns? 

Schoolmaster.  Certainly:  I  can  talk  fluently 
of  the  suhlimity  of  Milton,  the  majestic  march 
of  Dryden,  the  meUiJluous  versification  of 
Pope,  tlie  humor  of  Swi  ),  the  covcdts  of  Cow 
ley,  the  descriptive  powers  of  Th(  ni?ri)i,  the 
grand  obscurity  of  Gray,  and  the  siceet  sim- 
plicity of  Goldsmith. 

Piomingo.    These  authors  you  have  read. 

Schoolmaster.  I  hare  read  the  titlcpafres  of 
some  o'them,  and  sometimes  perused  elegant 
extracts,  promi"ent  beauties,  and  enleriaiiiing 
selections,  brought  into  view  by  the  disinter- 
ested care  and  refined  taste  of  ingenious  and 
learned  hooksellers.  It  is  by  no  means  neces- 
sary th  .t  a  man  should  read  a  poem  in  order  to 
be  able  to  pronounce  sentence  on  its  merits: 
nothing  more  is  necessary  than  to  fall  in  with 
the  prevailing  opinion,  and  utter  every  sen- 
tenee  with  the  appearance  of  profound  wis- 
dom. There  is  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  for 
example  :  I  have  never  read  a  dozen  lines  of 
it,  but  whit  I  met  with  in  Scott^s  Lessons,  and 
Burgh's  Art  of  Speaking ;  yet  no  man  can 
talk  with  more  fluency  of  the  grandeur  of  ideas 
and  daring  imagination  of  the  immortal  bard, 
than  I  can.  In  fine,  I  have  discovered  an  in- 
dubitable triitlt  :  that  knowledge  is  acquired 
with  difficulty  ;  but,  that  the  appearance  of 
knowledge,  which  is  quite  as  good,  is  easily 
attained. 

Piomingo.  You  give  your  opinion  likewise 
of  writers  in  prose. 

Schoolmaster.  Readily :  I  know  that  the 
style  of  Addison  is  natural  and  idiomatic  ;  and 
that  of  Jchnson,  lofty  and  majestic — Ex  pede 
Herculem :  that  is  another  of  my  Latin 
plirases.  I  have  got  festma  lente  and  three  or 
four  besides. 

Piomingo.   Have  you  ever  read  the  works 
of  Addison  or  Johnson  ? 
Schoolmaster.  Never. 


THE  SAVAGE. 


53 


Piomingo.  Have  you  any  knowledge  of 
dramatic  criticism  ? 

Schoolmaster.  I  attend  the  theatre ;  I  have 
learned  the  common  p!ayhou>e  shivg ;  and 
sing  hosannas  to  the  great  bard  of  nature.  I 
talk  of  ancient  wi  ,  modern  sentiment,  and  the 
pernicious  effects  of  the  German  drama  ! 

Piomingo  Your  discourse  has  been  so  in- 
teresting tiiut  1  found  it  impossible  to  inter- 
rupt you,  though  I  tliink  we  have  lather  wan- 
dered from  our  subject :  I  believe  you  intima- 
ted a  while  ago  that  when  yon  commenced 
teacher,  you  pursued  a  difFerent.  plan  from 
thiit  by  which  3'our  conduct  is  at  present  regu- 
lated. 

Schoolmaster.  I  did :  I  was,  even  at  that 
time,  able  to  tbrrn  a  tolerably  correct  idea  of 
the  extent  of  my  own  acquirements  ;  and  I 
endeavored,  with  the  utmost  assiduity,  to  com- 
municate to  my  pupils  the  knowledge  of  which 
I  was  possessed.  The  industrious  and  atten- 
tive, I  encouraged  and  rewarded  ;  the  indnlent 
and  vicious  I  reprimanded  and  corrected.  This 
plan  I  followed  for  some  time;  but,  ere  I  was 
aware,  my  school  dwindled  to  nothing.  Every 
man  conceives  that  his  own  son  is  not  only  a  ge- 
nius of  the  most  exalted  order,butalso  a  paragon 
of  virtue:  now, as  I  had  dared  to  form  a  difFerent 
opinion,  it  was  thought  altogether  proper  that 
these  promising  sons  of  enli^ihtened  fathers 
should  be  moved  from  their  present  situation, 
and  placed  under  the  care  of  some  celebrated 
preceptor  who  would  be  able  to  form  a  correct 
estimate  of  the  brilliancy  of  their  talents. 

Every  mother  considers  her  son  a  hero  in 
miniature,  rash  daring  ambitious  ;  too  noble 
to  be  controlled  by  a  cold  forniiil  pedagogue, 
and  too  highspiriled  to  submit  to  any  species 
of  chastisement.  She  is  alwa3's  heard  to  ob- 
serve that  her  "children  may  be  led  but  can- 
not be  driven:  they  have  a  spirit  above  it." 
Now,  as  I  conceived  this  high  spirit  to  be 
nothing  else  than  childish  obstinacy  ingendercd 
by  the  weak  indulgence  of  silly  mothers,  I  re- 
solved that  it  should  be  humbled  ;  and  when 
any  of  my  highminded  pupils  were  not  dis- 
posed to  be  led,  I  immediately  had  recourse  to 
my  compulsory  process.  It  is  very  possible 
that  1  was  walking  in  the  path  of  duty  ;  but  I 
found  myself  diverging  so  widely  from  the  line 
of  self  interest,  that  I  became  rather  uiiensy. 
Whatever  might  be  the  motives  of  my  conduct, 
the  conscqui  nee  was  palpable  enough  ;  my 
school  was  deserted.  I  saw  my  error,  and 
wisely  determined  to  correct  it. 

I  removed  to  a  central  part  of  the  city,  and 
instantly  opened  a  select  academy  for  the  in- 
etriK^tion  of  young  gentlemen.  My  fiist  care 
was  to  puff  myselt'  in  the  newspapers  in  the 
follow mg  manner  : 

Mr.  Birch  has  the  honor  to  inform  an  en- 
lightened and  generous  public,  that  he  has  de- 
termined to  devote  his  time  to  the  tuition  of  a 
select  and  limited  number  of  young  gentle- 
TOen. 


"Mr.  B  is  possessed  of  all  those  advantages 
that  flow  from  a  polite  ;ind  liberal  education  ; 
and  he  flatters  himself  that  he  is  fully  compe- 
tent to  the  task  of  conveying  instruction  in  the 
most  fashionable  and  agreeable  manner. 

Mr.  B.  feels  a  just  abhorrence  for  the  old 
riffid  and  compulsory  system  of  education, 
which  has  a  direct  tendency  to  terrify  the 
tender  mind  and  give  it  a  distaste  for  every 
kind  of  instruction;  and  he  has  the  utmost 
pleasure  in  having  the  honor  to  announce  to 
iha  judicious  and  intelligent  part  of  the  com- 
munity that,  by  studious  attention,  he  has  de- 
vised a  pi. in  whereby  the  otherwise  irksome 
business  of  education  will  be  rendered  agree- 
able and  entertaining." — But  why  should  I  re- 
peat the  wiiole?  I  went  on  in  the  usual  puff- 
ing style,  and  made  the  necessary  promises  of 
forming  the  minners  and  watching  over  the 
morals  of  my  pupils.  Every  thing  succeeded 
agreeanly  to  my  wishes.  All  the  world  v'cre 
eager  to  have  their  sons  instructed  at  Mr. 
Birch's  new  and  fashionable  academy,  where 
learning  was  made  so  amusing,  and  the  affairs 
were  transacted  in  a  stj^le  so  genteel  and  so 
splendid.  I  resolved  to  give  myselt  no  uneasi- 
ness about  the  progress  of  my  scholars  in  the 
paths  of  literature,  but  to  devote  my  undivided 
attention  to  the  business  o? amusing  n)y  young 
gentlemen,  and  flattering  the  vanity  of  their 
parents.  The  boys  were  employed  in  spouting, 
writing  verses,  drawing  pictures,  and  receiving 
diplomas  and  certificates  :  which  they  carried 
home  and  exhibited  as  testimonials  of  their 
proficiency  in  scientifical  pursuits.  I  instituted 
quarterly  examinations ;  cards  of  invitation 
were  sent  to  my  patrons  to  come  and  judge  of 
the  literary  acquirements  of  their  children  con- 
fided to  my  care;  specimens  of  writing,  pre- 
pared for  the  occasion,  were  exhibited  ;  the 
young  gentlemen  were  examined  in  arithmetic, 
grammar,  geography,  chronology,  mytiiology; 
and  the  entertainment  concluded  with  a  spout- 
ing match. 

Piomingo.  I  cannot  conceive. how  you  man-^ 
aged  the  examination. 

Schoolmaster.  Nothing  easier  :  by  the  as- 
sistance of  a  few  bnoks,  which  are  easily  pro- 
cured, 1  bad  prepared  my  disciples  to  answer 
some  general  questions  on  each  of  these  sub- 
jects ;  and  these  were  the  only  questions  I 
asked. 

Piomingo.  How  did  you  conduct  the  spout- 
ing match  ? 

Schoolmaster.  Why,  we  delivered  "  Sempro- 
nius'  speech  for  war,"  "  Lucius'  speech  for 
peace,"  "  the  dialogue  between  Brutus  and 
Cassius"  and  "  Antony's  oiation  over  Ceasar's 
dead  body."  We  sacrificed  "  Hector  and 
Andromache,"  mangled  "a  hymn  to  adversi- 
ty," and  murdered  an  "  ode  on  the  passions." 
I  must  not  forget  to  mention  that  one  of  my 
most  surprisiiig geniuses  committed  to  memory 
an  oration  found  in  the  works  of  a  certain  a'i~ 
thor  and  passed  it  on  the  enlightened  assembly 
as  his  own  composition  ;  but  tJiere  was  nothing' 


54 


THE  SAVAGE. 


remarkable  in  that:  this  trick  has  often  been 
practised  before  in  the  seminiiries  of  Philadel- 
phia.    O   )io\v  dclijrhtful  it  was  to  behold  the 
nioutiiing',  and  stamping,  and  sawing-  the  air  ! 
the  smiles  and  the  grins,  and  the  furious   ges- 
ticulations !     While  the  fond  parents 
Smil'd  and  look'd,  sinil'd  and  look'd, 
And  smil'd  and  look'd  again, 
each  one  imagining  that  he  saw,  in  his  favorite 
son,  some   future    Demosthenes,  Cicero,  Chat- 
ham, Burke,  or  Fox. 

In  faith,  'iw.hs  strange,  'twas  passing  strange  ! 

'Twas  pitiful, 'twas  wondrous  pitiful! 

The  young  gentlemen  received  the  unani- 
mous  applause  of  the  polite  assembly ;  the 
most  extravagant  encomiums  were  bestowed 
oti  the  care  and  assiduity  of  the  teacher  ;  and 
the  fame  of  his  select  academy  was  extended 
throughout  the  city. 

But  a  great  part  of  my  success  depends  upon 
the  manner  in  which  I  eulogize  the  children 
to  their  respective  parents.  And,  although  I 
firmly  believe  that  some  of  them  have  dis- 
cernment  enough  to  perceive  my  motive  for 
so  doing,  still,  this  flattery  is  so  deligiitful  to 
every  parental  ear,  that  they  are  universally 
carried  away  by  the  pleasing  delusion.  "Well, 
Mr.  Birch,"  says  Mrs.  Bombysine,  "  what  do 
you  think  of  my  Bobby  ?"  "  Think,  ma'am, 
I  protest  I  think  him  the  most  astonishing 
child  in  the  world  !  He  is  a  prodigy  of  genius  ! 
Upon  my  word,  ma'am,  he  appears  to  know 
every  thing  intuitively.  I  was  taken  with  his 
appearance  at  first  sight,  I  was  struck  with 
something  uncommon  in  his  countenance, 
which  seemed  to  prognosticate  future  great- 
ness. And  then  he  is  so  irresistibly  interest- 
ing— I  think  he  very  much  resembles  you 
ma'am."  "  Do  you  think  so,  Mr.  Birch  ? 
Why  I  do  not  know  :  he  is  said  to  be  like  Mr. 
Bombysine."  "  True  ma'am,  very  true  ma'am, 
in  the  outlines  of  his  countenance  ;  but  the 
genius  of  his  mother  beams  in  his  eyes  I  You 
will  please  to  permit  me  to  express  my  opinion 
fi-eely  on  this  subject :  in  these  matters  I  con- 
ceive that  my  judgment  is  to  be  depended  upon. 
Your  son  will  one  day  fill  a  distinguished 
place  in  the  republic  of  letters."  "  What  turn 
do  you  think  he  will  hare  for  public  speaking, 
Mr.  Birch  ?"  "  Upon  my  honor,  ma'am,  he 
his  a  wonderful  talent  for  declamation.  Did 
you  observe,  ma'am,  with  what  a  noble  air  he 
came  forward  !  how  fluent  his  delivery !  how 
natural  and  easy  his  gestures  !  Yes,  I  can 
foretel  with  certainty  that  his  elocution,  in  our 
great  national  council,  will  fill  the  world  with 
astonishment."  "I  am  pretty  much  of  your 
<9pi  nion,  Mr.  Birch,  as  to  Bobby's  talents  for 
elocution  ;  and  I  have  often  puzzled  my  brain 
by  endeavoring  to  determine  which  of  the 
learned  professions  would  best  fall  in  with  the 
bent  of  his  genius.  I  would  rather  depend 
upon  your  judgment,  in  this  interesting  affair, 
than  on  that  of  any  other  man  I  know.  Mr. 
Bombysine  seems  inclined  to  make  him  a  phy- 
sician; but  it  seems  to  me,  that,  in  that  calling, 


his  oratorical  abilities  would  be  totally  lost  to 
the  fommunity.  We  do  not  receive  talents, 
Mr.  Birch,  to  hide  them  in  a  napkin."  Madam, 
your  ideas  coincide  exactly  with  mine.  I  am 
satisfied  that  he  would  make  an  eminent  phy- 
sician, should  his  studies  be  directed  that  way; 
but,  as  you  very  justly  observe,  that  employ- 
ment would  not  iifford  him  an  opportunity  of 
displaying  his  rhetorical  powers.  The  pro- 
fession of  the  law  opens  more  pleasing  pros- 
pects :  he  would  be  an  ornament  to  the  bar, 
and  confer  dignity  on  the  bench."  "True: 
yet  I  always  used  to  think  that  he  discovered 
a  military  genius.  When  he  was  quite  a  child, 
it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  I  could 
keep  him  in  the  house  on  those  days  when  the 
troops  were  parading  in  the  streets:  he  would 
shoulder  his  father's  cane  and  strut  across  the 
room  with  an  air  so  consequential  and  imperi- 
ous I — you  would  have  split  your  sides  with 
laughing  had  you  seen  him."  "Your  obser- 
vations are  perfectly  correct,  ma'am  ;  he  has 
indeed  a  martial  air  when  he  moves ;  and 
there  is  something  so  majestic  and  command- 
ing in  his  countenance — I  have  no  doubt, 
ma'am,  but  that  you  will  live  to  see  him  a 
general  officer."  "  Well,  Mr.  Birch,  tliere  is 
one  thing  certain  :  you  have  a  wonderful  talent 
for  the  instruction  of  youth.  Every  one  speaks 
highly  of  your  abilities.  Do  you  find  the  em- 
ployment agreeable  ?"  "  Were  all  my  pupils 
such  as  your  son,  my  business  would  not  only 
be  pleasing  but  honorable." 

These,  Piomingo,  these  are  the  arts  by  which 
I  render  the  vanity,  folly,  and  imbecility  of 
the  world  the  means  of  my  own  advancement. 
Can  you  blame  me  ? 

Piomingo.  Not  I  truly  :  I  think  you  are 
perfectly  right.  When  your  scholars  have 
completed  their  education,  what  have  they 
learned  ? 

Schoolmaster.  To  chatter  about  every  thing, 
and  understand  nothing. — 

O"  The  proposal  of  Crito  has  met  with  a 
favorable  reception.  We  will  receive  with 
pleasure,  and  insert  with  readiness,  his  philo- 
logical remarks.  However  unimportant  they 
may  appear  to  him,  we  have  no  doubt  but  they 
will  prove  instructive  to  some  of  our  readers, 
and  agreeable  to  all.  We  make  this  observa- 
tion with  more  confidence  because  we  know 
that  few  have  a  more  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  nature  of  the  English  language,  or 
have  studied  its  analogies  more  successfully, 
than  Crito. 


THE  SAVAGE— NO.  XI. 

Prejudice. 
Irad  pursued  his  journey  through  the  sandy 
deserts  of  Africa  ;  oppressed  with  fatigue  and 
overcome  with  thirst,  his  soul  died  within  him. 
While  in  this  situation,  he  beheld  at  a  distance 
a  grove  of  palmtrees  ;  he  hastened  to  the  place 
and  found  a  well  of  delicious  water.     He  drank 


THE  SAVAGE 


55 


and  lay  down  to  repose.  But  ere  sleep  had 
closed  his  eyes,  he  began  to  reflect  on  his  pre- 
sent situation:  "If  I  now  proceed  on  my 
journey  "  said  Trad,  "  I  shall  reach  the  place 
of  my  abode  before  the  close  of  the  day ;  but 
if  I  loiter  here,  I  shall  be  overtaken  by  night 
and  devoured  by  the  beasts  of  the  desert.  I 
must  not  linger  here:  I  must  be  gone, —  But 
cool  is  the  breeze  that  plays  through  the  leaves 
of  the  palmtrees  I  A  few  moments'  rest  in 
this  delightful  shade  will  not  prevent  me  from 
performing  my  journey  "  While  he  yet  con- 
tinued to  prolong  tliis  indulgence,  he  fell 
asleep  ;  nor  did  he  awake  till  the  going  down 
of  the  sun.  Terrified  at  approaching  darkiitss 
and  the  dangers  of  the  night,  he  mourned  bit- 
terly over  the  folly  and  infatuation  which  had 
governed  his  conduct.  The  horrors  which 
surrounded  him  deprived  his  mind  of  that  com- 
posure and  deliberation,  which  were  rendered 
doubly  necessary  by  the  circumstances  in 
which  he  was  placed.  He  became  confused — 
he  wandered  from  his  way — the  shades  of 
evening  closed  in  about  him — it  became  dark 
— he  was  encountered  by  a  lion  in  search  of 
prey — alas  I  poor  Irad  ! — 

Had  Irad  known  the  consequences  that 
would  result  from  sleeping  beneath  the  palm- 
trees,  he  would  not  have  lain  down :  the  cool- 
ing breeze  and  the  refreshing  shade  would 
have  lost  their  tempting  sweetness  He  would 
have  hastened  from  the  fountain  as  from  the 
abode  of  death,  and  pursued  his  way  with  vigor 
and  alacrity. 

The  case  of  Irad  is  not  singular.  Who  is 
there  that  travels  in  the  laborious  paths  of  vir- 
tue,without  ever  turning  aside  into  the  flowery 
fields  of  vice,  which  lie  on  the  right  hand  and 
on  the  left  f  Who  is  there  that  has  constantly 
resisted  tlie  instigations  of  avarice,  the  whis- 
perings of  vanity,  the  suggestions  of  ambition, 
the  impulses  of  passion,  and  the  allurements 
of  pleasure  ?  Who  is  there  that  has  looked 
upon  the  tree  of  vice,  and  seen  that  it  "  was 
good  for  food,  and  that  it  was  pleasant  to  the 
eyes,  and  a  tree  to  be  desired  to  make  one 
wise,"  and  has  not  taken  the  fruit,  and  eat 
thereof?  Yet  were  we  aware  of  the  evils  that 
must  inevitably  result  from  our  wanderings ; 
did  we  know  that  the  voice  of  the  sirens  would 
conduct  us  to  destruction  ;  were  we  fully  satis- 
fled  that  the  consequence  of  eating  the  "  for- 
bidden fruit"  would  be  death  ;  this  knowledge 
would  strip  vice  of  all  her  meretricious  charms 
— and  weak  human  nature  would  be  able  to 
resist  her  allurements. 

Proh  superi!  quantum  mortalia  pectora  Cfflcae 
Nyclis  habent! — 

From  these  premises  it  appears  that  we  agree 
in  opinion  with  those  who  suppose  that  the 
vices  and  follies  of  man  arise  from  ignorance 
or  intellectual  darkness  ;  and  could  we  believe, 
with  these  philosophers,  that  this  weak  and 
erring  man  could  be  transformed  into  a  god, 
then  we  should  become  a  convert  to  that  phi- 


osophy  which  teaches  us  to  believe  that  the 
empire  of  virtue  will  be  established  by  the  dif- 
fusion of  knowledge.  But  if  man  be  by  nature 
incapable  of  receiving  tiiat  intelligence  v\  hich 
is  to  guide  him  in  the  paths  of  rectitude  ;  if  all 
the  light  that  he  can  receive  serve  only  to  dis- 
cover to  him  that  he  is  surrounded  by  impene- 
trable darkness;  if  it  only  give  him  a  glimpse 
of  proximate  objects,  anH  tend  to  render  him 
discontented  with  his  situation ;  why  should 
we  feed  ourselves  with  the  vain  hope  of  making 
him  virtuous  and  happy  by  giving  him  know- 
ledge ? 

There  is  one  being  who,  we  are  taught  to 
believe,  looks  through  universal  nature,  and 
understands  all  existing  relations ;  who  sees 
through  a  chain  of  causes  and  effects  from 
eternity  to  eternity;  and  whose  mind  is  the 
fountain  of  truth  :  this  being  must  necessarily 
act  right ;  but  every  inferior  existence  must  be 
limited  in  knowlelge,  and  consequently,  liable 
to  error.  And  what  shall  we  say  of  man?  He 
is  placed  so  li)W,  so  ivfinitelij  loio,  in  the  scale 
of  intelligence,  that  any  light,which  his  nature 
is  capable  of  receiving,  rather  has  a  tendency 
to  mislead  him,  by  encouraging  him  to  reason, 
from  the  very  little  that  he  knows,  concerning 
that  universe  of  things  which  remains  un- 
known. He  looks  up  and  he  sees  "  men  as 
trees  walking ;"  and  from  this  imperfect 
glimpse,  he  boldly  forms  a  system  for  universal 
nature ! 

How  can  he  be  taught  to  foresee  the  con- 
sequences of  his  own  actions  ?  How  can  he 
be  taught  to  know  that  his  personal  interest, 
and  the  interest  of  every  other  being  in  exis- 
tence are  the  same  ?  How  can  he  be  taught 
to  know  that  he  cannot  injure  another  without 
at  the  same  lime  injuring  himself?  When  all  his 
prejudices  are  eradicated,  and  when  he  is  en- 
lightened, as  much  as  he  is  capable  ef  being 
enlightened,  will  he  not  still  conclude  that  his 
own  interest  may  be  promoted  by  acts  of  in- 
justice ?  But  man  is  so  weak,  his  knowledge 
so  imperfect,  his  life  so  short,  that  he  must 
always  be  governed  by  prejudices  :  and  it  is  a 
happy  circumstance  when  these  prejudices  are 
of  a  salutary  nature. 

The  philosopher,  who  would  make  a  nation 
of  virtuous  men,  must  not  expect  to  do  it 
merely  by  communicating  knowledge :  he 
must  regulate  their  conduct  by  taking  advan- 
tage of  their  feelings  and  passions :  he  must 
implant  salutary  prejudices,and  eradicate  those 
which  are  pernicious;  he  must  make  them  act 
uprightly,  honorably,  nobly  from  the  generous 
impulse  of  their  minds,  without  any  cold  cal- 
culation, or  metaphysical  reasonings.  Yes, 
we  repeat  it,  he  must  establish  a  system  of 
prejudice.  What  influenced  Leonidas  and  his 
Spartan  band  to  die  in  defence  of  their  country? 
It  was  prejudice :  a  glorious,  heroic,  godlike 
prejudice,  implanted  in  the  mmd  of  the  nation 
by  its  immortal  lawgiver.  Could  we  be  as- 
sured of  the  existence  of  such  a  prejudice   at 


56 


THE  SAVAGE. 


the  present  dny.we  would  curse  the  philosophy 
that  would  de'troy  it. 

Wc  have  no  intention  of  entering-  into  me- 
taph3'sical  disquisitions;  but  were  led  into 
these  thouijhts  by  some  observations  we  lately 
heard  made  on  the  subjcet  of  prejudices. 

It  was  asserted  'that  all  the  crimes,  vices 
and  follies,  of  men  were  owing;  to  io^norance  ; 
that  knowledcre  was  progressing  slowly  through 
the  world,  and  would  finally  triumph  over  pre- 
judice, vice,  and  misery  ;  and  that  notiiing  had 
so  o-reat  a  tendency  to  destroy  prejudices,  and 
render  men  enlightened,  civilized,  and  munifi- 
cent, as  commerce." 

It  appears  to  us,  that  truth  and  falsehood 
are  so  intimately  blended  in  this  statement, 
thnt  they  cannot  be  easily  separated.  We 
have  no  doubt  that  vice  of  every  kind  is  owing 
to  ignorance  :  no  man  willingly  h.iscs  his  way, 
and  becomes  a  wanderer  in  the  labyrinths  of 
error  :  he  must  be  misled  by  false  appearances. 
But  we  contend  that  tlic  nature  of  men  is  such, 
that  tliey  cannot  be  kept  in  the  paths  of  recti- 
tude,  or  their  conduct  regulated,  merely  by 
enlightening  their  understandings.  We  are  an 
enemy  to  those  prejudices  which  render  men 
bigoted,  ferocious,  or  cruel ;  yet  we  would 
tremble  at  the  idea  of  sweeping  from  the  face 
of  the  earth  every  species  of  opinions  which 
may  fall  under  the  description  of  prejudices. 

Before  we  proceed  any  farther,  it  might  not 
be  amiss  to  give  some  explanation  of  the  term. 
Prejudices  are  opinions,  sentiments,  or  judg- 
ments,which  exist  in  the  minds  of  men  without 
being  produced  by  any  previous  process  of 
reasoning  :  they  may  be  founded  on  truth  or 
falsehood;  they  may  be,  in  their  efFects,  salu- 
tary or  pernicious. 

We  agree  that  nothing  has  so  great  a  ten- 
dcncv  to  destroy  prejudices  of  all  kinds  as  com- 
merce. Tlie  intercourse  it  promotes  among 
men  of  different  nations,  religions,  manners, 
customs,  and  appearances,  must  contribute  di- 
rectly to  annihilate  all  national  peculiarities. 
Men  will  soon  find  that  they  all  agree  in  one 
thing  only ;  and  this  one  thing  will  become  the 
sole  motive  to  action  in  the  mind  of  every  en- 
lightened merchant.  The  accursed  love  of 
gain  swallows  up  every  thing  else  in  the  breast 
of  the  trader.  Nor  is  it  long  confined  to  the 
mercantile  class.  It  pervades  the  mass  of  the 
community,  and  exterminates  every  generous 
passion,  salutary  prejudice,  pleasing  illusion, 
and  virtuous  propensitj'. 

Patriotism  is  a  prejudice  which  is  incom- 
patible with  the  pursuits  of  a  merchant. 
"Where  your  treasure  is,  there  will  your  heart 
be  also."  He  becomes  interested  as  much  in 
tlie  concerns  of  foreign  nations  -as  in  those  of 
his  own  country.  He  divests  himself  of  every 
childish  partiality  in  favor  of  tiie  soil  which 
gave  him  birth.  The  passions  tliat  animated 
the  bosom  of  aCodrus,  a  Philopoemen,  a  Dccius, 
!i  Cato,  or  a  Brutus,  are  despised  by  him  as  the 
dreams  of  a  disordered  imagmation. 


Let  it  not  be  said  that  he  becomes  a  citizen 
of  the  world  :  that  his  amor  patriae  is  convert- 
ed into  a  love  of  mankind  in  general — univer- 
sal phil  .nthropy  never  flou'ishes  where  patri- 
otism  is  destroyed.  Tlie  whole  world  is  too 
mighty  an  object  for  his  affections  ;  and  the 
more  he  knows  o'  the  world,  the  more  reason 
he  finds  to  condemn  it :  his  knowledge  of  its 
perfidy  and  injustice  awakens  suspicion  and 
hatred.  He  still  loves ;  bu)  the  (bject  of  his 
affections  is — self  only.  He  hails  national 
calamities  as  the  greatest  of  blessings,  if  they 
contribute  to  the  success  of  his  trade  :  and  he 
willingly  plunge.**  his  country  into  war  for  the 
proceeds  of  a  profitable  voyage. 

National  reliiiion,  national  laws,  national 
manners,  and  pvrity  of  morals  are  quickly 
contaminated,  and  finally  destroyed,  by  the 
prevalence  ot  commerce.  When  a  man  has 
ceased  to  love  his  country,  he  gradually  ceases 
to  love  its  religion,  its  laws,  its  manners,  and 
its  morals.  When  he  has  cased  to  give  it  the 
preference  over  every  other  country,  he  soon 
ceases  to  love  and  esteem  its  dislinguishing 
particularities.  He  becomes  acqiaainted  *vith 
men  of  many  nations,  whose  various  religions, 
governments,  and  manners  are  as  numerous  as 
the ccuiinents, island  andterritorics,they  inhabit. 
He  sees  them  every  where  breaking  through 
all  restraints  for  the  purpose  of  accumulating 
riches.  His  own  countty  and  its  institutions 
having  ceased  to  be  objects  of  veneration,  the 
salutary  principles  of  his  education  are  forgot- 
ten or  despised.  His  morals  are  relaxed  ;  and 
he  adopts  a  pliant  system  of  ethics  which  will 
not  impede  his  progress  in  the  acquisition  of 
wealth.  The  love  of  gain  flourishes  in  his 
soul,  and  like  the  fabled  Upas  sheds  abroad 
the  dew  of  death  on  every  budding  virtue.  He 
freights  his  ship  Viiith  shrieking  Africans  torn 
from  the  bosom  of  their  country  and  their  I'riends; 
he  takes  convenient  oaths  to  evade  the  payment 
of  duties;  and  he  tramples  on  the  cross  of 
Christ  for  the  sake  of  a  lucrative  trade  I 

[  To  be  continued. 

From  Crito. 

In  consequence  of  your  pel  mission,  Pio- 
mingo,  I  shall  take  the  liberty  occasionally  to 
trouble  you  with  some  remarks  on  language  ; 
but  you  are  not  to  expect  any  thing  like  con- 
nected dissertations  or  regular  cssaya.  I  shall 
present  you,  when  I  find  leisure,  with  casual 
thoughts  and  desultory  observations,  on  philo- 
logical  subjects:  if  you  think  them  worthy  of 
a  place  in  your  miscellany,  it  is  well ;  if  not  I 
shall  be  satisfied. 

Those  wlio  left  the  island  of  Great  Britain, 
and  settled  in  a  wilderness,  certainly  forfeited 
none  of  their  rights  to  the  language  of  their 
forefathers.  If  they  still  had  the  liberty  of 
speech,  they  must  necessarily  have  retained 
the  privilege  of  regulating  that  speech  in  the 
manner  most  agreeable  to  themselves.  Their 
removal  from  an  island  intimately  connected 
with  surrounding  nations,  and  their  settlement 


THE  SAVAGE. 


m 


Ksn  an  immense  continent  far  distant  from  the 
European  world,  must  inevitably  occasion  some 
slight  differences  to  exi>:t,bctween  the  language 
spoken  by  the  people  of  the  United  States  and 
that  spoken  by  th^  inhabitants  of  Great  Britain. 
Many  words  familiar  to  nur  ancestors,  in  their 
native  country,  must  have  fallen  into  disuse 
when  they  settled  here ;  because  they  were  no 
longer  conversant  with  the  things  to  which 
these  words  were  applied :  and  being  placed 
in  a  new  world,  surrounded  by  an  infinity  of 
objects  of  which  they  had  no  previous  know- 
ledge, they  were  under  the  necessity  either  of 
inventing  new  names  for  these  new  things,  or 
of  applying  to  them  terms  which  were  already 
appropriated  to  other  objects. 

But  these  are  not  the  only  causes  which 
tend  to  produce  a  difference  :  the  intercourse 
that  subsists  between  England  and  other  na- 
tions, her  foreign  possessions,  and  extensive 
commerce,  keep  her  language  in  a  state  of 
continual  fluctuation,  and  subject  it  to  changes 
to  which  the  language  of  the  citizens  of  the 
United  States  is  not  exposed.  From  this  con- 
sideration  it  appears  piobable  that  in  the  course 
of  a  few  centuries  the  English  language  will 
be  found  in  much  greater  punty  in  America 
than  in  the  island  of  Great  Britain,  taking  those 
authors  as  a  standard,  who  wrote  during  that 
period  which  has  generally  been  accounted  the 
Augustan  age  of  England.  Does  it  not  there- 
fore discover  a  kind  of  literary  servility  in  us 
to  receive  without  hesitation  every  word  which 
may  have  been  adopted  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic,  while  we  use  with  reluctance  any 
term  which  has  originated  among  ourselves  ? 
and.  by  the  indiscriminate  reception,  we  give 
to  these  foreign  terms,  do  we  not  contribute 
more  to  the  corruption  of  our  speech,  than  we 
would  do  by  the  adoption  of  so  many  indi- 
genous appellations  ? 

But  it  is  not  only  by  the  admission  of  lately 
adopted  English  words,  but  also  by  our  readi- 
ness to  receive  English  modes  of  pronuncia- 
tion, that  we  hasten  those  corrupt  changes 
which  sooner  or  later  take  place  in  every  lan- 
guage. In  numerous  instances  is  the  pronun- 
ciation of  the  American  people  more  correct 
and  analogical  than  the  fashionable  pronuncia- 
tion  in  England.  We  have  preserved  the  ori- 
ginal  orthoepy  whi-ch  has  been  lost  by  the 
inhabitants  of  Great  Britain.  Must  we  there, 
fore  discard  our  own  sounds,  and  adopt  others 
less  analogical,  merely  because  they  may  be 
found  in  a  pronouncing  dictionary  ? 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  several  causes 
concur  to  prevent  any  thing  like  purity  of  lan- 
guage or  uniformity  of  pronunciation  in  the 
United  States:  the  continuijl  influx  of  foreign- 
ers, (who  pervade  the  interior  of  the  country, 
and  whose  several  dialects  when  melted  into 
the  speech  of  the  original  settlers  form  a  curi- 
ous and  laughable  amalgamation)  has  a  ten- 
dency to  unsettle  the  language  of  the  unedu- 
cated inhabitants.  I  have  sometimes  supposed 
jBjself  to  be  engaged  in  disoonrse  with  a  native 
H 


of  the  north  of  Ireland,when  immediately  after 
he  made  use  of  certain  expressions,  which  led 
me  to  believe  that  he  was  a  German :  upon 
inquiry,  I  learned  that  he  was  a  Pennsylvanian 
by  birth.  The  emigrants  from  various  coun- 
ties of  England,  the  Welsh,  the  Scotch,  th« 
Irish,  the  Germans,  the  French,  when  they 
take  up  their  residence  among  us  and  become 
connected  by  marriages,  and  otherwise,  with 
the  original  inhabitants,  influence  in  a  small 
degree  the  language  of  the  country ;  but  tha 
effects  of  these  connections,  as  population  in. 
creases,  become  less  and  less  perceptible,  and 
will  before  long  cease  to  exist.  But  the  great- 
est  enemy  to  purity  of  language  in  the  United 
States  is  the  prevalence  of,  what  literary  men 
in  England  have  termed,  the  London  dialect: 
this  flourishes  in  our  cities,  and  even  in  many 
parts  of  the  interior.  Since  the  English  have 
taken  up  the  idea  of  establishing  a  uniform 
system  of  pronunciation,  they  have  added  one 
proneuncing  dictionary  to  another  till  they 
have^involved  the  matter  in  obscurity  and 
doubt,  ten  times  more  perplexing  than  ever  it 
was  before.  And  our  ignorant  wordmongert 
in  the  United  States,  having  selected  their  re. 
spective  favorites  among  the  English  orthoe- 
pists,  and  combined  these  transatlantic  mate- 
rials  with  their  provincial  peculiarities,  framed 
their  pronouncing  spelling  books  ;  which  they 
have  sent  forth  to  regulate  the  pronunciation 
of  the  American  youth. 

It  is  easy  to  point  out  evils ;  but  to  find 
suitable  remedies  is  a  matter  of  the  greatest 
difficulty.  I  shall  touch  on  this  subject  some 
other  time  ;  at  present  I  must  conclude  when 
I  have  made  one  additional  observation.  ' 

Great  things  have  owed  their  existence  to 
the  talents  and  enterprise  of  private  persons  ; 
but  in  a  country  like  this  where  there  are  no 
national  manners,  national  pride,  or  national 
character;  where  the  sordid  love  of  gain  en. 
grosses  all  the  powers  of  the  soul ;  where  affec- 
tation of  foreign  manners,  foreign  literature, 
and  foreign  follies  universally  prevails ; — in 
such  a  country,  the  exertions  of  an  individual 
will  avail  but  little.  Did  Congress  possess  the 
will  and  the  power  to  institute  public  school) 
throughout  the  whole  extent  of  the  United 
States,  erect  colleges  in  every  state,  and  estab- 
lish a  great  federal  university  at  the  city  of 
Washington  ;  would  our  legislators  unite  their 
talents  to  devise  a  liberal,  enlightened  and 
grand  system  of  national  education  ;  then,  not 
only  would  our  literature  flourish,  but  the  po- 
litical consequences  would  be  of  infinite  impor- 
tance. Would  it  cos'  too  muck  7 — There  was 
a  Greek  proverb,wl)ich  signified  that  "nothing 
but  the  love  of  gold  could  conquer  Sparta." 

Academy  of  Wit. 
Mr.  Waggish  has  the  honor  to  inform  the 
bucks  and  boys  of  sport  in  the  city  of  Phila- 
delphia that  he  has  opened  an  academy  in 
Monkey  hall  for  the  instruction  of  a  select  and 
limited  number  of  young  gentlemen  in  the  im. 


58  THE  SAVAGE. 

dispensable  and  polite  accomplishment  of  of  a.  quarter,  he  may  attack  his  father,  the 
yj,7_  schoolmaster  or  parson  ;  and  if  he  should  con- 
Mr.  VV.  hns  lorjfr  observed  and  deplored  the  tiniie  to  attend  these  instructions  for  six 
scarcity  of  wit  in  this  western  heniisplierc,  and  months,  he  will  be  entitled  to  the  degfree  of 
has  at  last  been  happy  enough  to  hit  upon  an  Master  Quizzer  from  the  Academy  of  Wit. 
expedient  to  supply  the  deficiency.  Mr.  W.  is  supremely  happy  to  have  it  in  his 
That  quickness  of  nfenius  which  displays  power  to  inform  the  children  of  Comus  that  he 
itself  in  Hushes  of  intellectual  fire — brilliant  has  constructed  a  scale  for  laughing  from  the 
repartees,  ingenious  allusions,  uncommon  dis-  lowest  maiden  simper,  to  the  sideburstivg  horse 
tinctions,  and  odd  assimilations,  is  the  gift  of  laugh;  to  which  he  has  appended  every  neces- 
nature  :  not  one  in  a  thousand  can  hope  to  sary  instruction  for  those  who  wish  to  learn 
possess  it ;  but  Mr.  W.  from  his  long  residence  scientifically  the  art  of  cachinnation. 
in  the  capitals  of  England  and  France,  and  his  Mr.  W.  will  have  stated  days  of  exhibition, 
extensive  acquaintance  with  the  gay  quizzical  when  the  parents  and  guardians  of  his  pupils 
and  waggish  spirits  of  Europe,  has  been  ena-  will  have  an  opportunity  of  attending  to  witness 
bled  to  arrange  and  bring  to  pi-rfection  a  sys-  the  proficiency  of  the  young  gentlemen  in  these 
tem  of  mechanical  wit,  which  will  be  found  to  ciiarming  accomplishments.  At  which  time 
answer  all  the  purposes  of  the  genume  article.  Mr.  W.  will  go  through  all  his  contortions  and 
It  provokes  as  much  laughter,and  excites  more  grimaces  for  ihe  amusement  of  his  patrons, 
merriment,  and  fun,  than  the  wit  of  mother  Towards  the  conclusion  of  the  entertainment, 
nature's  own  production.  he  and  his  pupils  will  unite  in  a  simultaneous 
Mr.  VV.  has  ohserved  with  pleasure  the  exertion  of  their  powers,  which  will  andoubt- 
liberal  spirit  displayed  by  the  citizens  of  Phila-  edly  afford  a  sublime  enjoyment  to  a  judicious 
delphia  in  the  encouragement  they  c^tinue  audience. 

to  show  to  ingenious  foreigners  of  every  de-  Mr.  W.  has  the  honor  to  inform  the  public, 
Bcription,  who  are  busily  employed  in  trans-  that  he  has  considered  this  subject  philosophi- 
phuting  the  polite  arts,  delectable  fashions,  en.  cally,  and  is  firmly  of  opinion  that  this  me- 
chanting  manners  and  enlightened  morals  of  chanical  or  artificial  wit  is  in  no  respect  infe- 
civilized  Europe  to  this  new,  but  rapidly  im-  rior  to  the  verbal  or  written  productions  of 
proving,  world;  and  he  hopes,  by  the  most  genius.  If  original  wit,  as  some  authors  con- 
unwearied  assiduity  in  the  service  of  his  em-  tend,  consist  in  striking  contrasts,  ingenious 
ployers,  and  unremitted  exertions  in  the  pro-  distinctions,  and  odd  associations,  he  will  ven- 
motion  of  wit  and  hilarity  to  merit  a  share  of  ture  to  assert,  without  fear  of  contradiction, 
the  public  patronai^e.  that  mechanical  wit,  as  taught  in  Monkey  hall, 
Mr.  W.  begs  leave  to  inform  the  lovers  of  possesses  these  advantages  in  a  degree  infi- 
fun  that  nothing  shall  be  neglected  at  his  nitely  superior  to  any  other  species  that  ever 
academy  that  has  a  tendency  to  provoke  existed.  Was  it  not  said  by  an  ancient  philo- 
lano-hter.  He  will  teach  how  to  perform,  in  sopher  that  if  virtue  could  be  rendered  visible, 
the'most  fashionable  manner,  every  species  of  all  men  would  adore  her  ?  This  Mr.  W.  has 
Quips  and  cranks  and  wanton  wiles,  ^one  for  wit :  he  has  given  her  a  substantial 
Nods  and  becks  and  grins  and  smiles.  form,  and  exposed  her  to  the  admiring  world 
He  will  teach  how  to  distort  every  part  of  the  i"  all  her  native  loveliness.  What  can  present 
body  in  the  most  genteel  style :  such  as  rolling  more  striking  contrasts  than  smiles  and  frowns, 
the  eves,  twisting  the  mouth,  projecting  the  laughing  and  groaning,  screams  of  distress, 
chin  smacking  the  lips,shootmg  out  the  tongue,  and  snouts  of  triumph  ?  What  can  produce  a 
distending  the  cheeks,  shrugging  up  the  shoul-  finer  effect  than  the  mewling  of  a  cat  and  the 
ders  protruding  the  belly,  kicking  up  the  heels,  roaring  of  a  lion  ?  What  can  be  more  sublime 
and  'rolling  on  the  floor ;  together  with  every  and  terrific  than  the  various  and  discordant 
kind  of  winking,  blinking,  frisking,  gaping,  yells  of  men  and  animals,  accompanied  by  th»^ 
wriffffling,velling,whooping,squatting,  squeak-  most  tremendous  distortions^  of  the  visage  and 
ine,  squealing,  squalling,  screaming,  screech-  every  part  of  the  body?  What  strange  asso- 
ing.    hissing,    groaning,     grunting,    bawling,  ciations  will  be  produced  by  the  judicious  use 


unnecessary  to  enumerate.  this  species  of  wit,  nothing  can  exceed  theni ; 

Mr.  W.  announces,with  the  greatest  satisfac-  suppose  for  example,  that  A.  should  attack  B. 

tion,  that  he  has  made  every  necessary  pre-  ^^'th  a  threatening  look  and  furious  gesticula- 

paration  to  teach  the  genuine  art  of  quizzing  tions,  and  B.  should  respond  by  a  grandisonous 
as  now   practised  by  the  highflying  bloods  of  explosion  a  ^osfenon;  could  there  be  a  repar- 

Europe.     Any  thing  of  a  brisk  young  gentle-  tee  m«re  brilliant  and  impressive  ? 
man  may,  afler  having  taking  three  or  four       Mr.  W.  presumes  it  is  unnecessary  for  him 

lessons,  venture  to  quiz  the  old  woman  who  to  dwell  on  the  indispensable  necessity  of  the 

Bells  apples  and  cakes  at  the  corner;  in  six  dmne  art  o/^wizzin^  to  every  one  who  wishes 

weeks  he  may  practise  upon  his  mother,  sister,  to  support  the  character  of  an  accomplished 

maiden  aunt,  or  grandmother ;  in  the  course  gentleman.     Quizzing  has  almost  totally  su- 


THE  SAVAGE. 


59 


persceded  every  other  species  of  wit,  in  the  JVavela. 

polished  nations  of  Europe,  and  will  ere  long       There  are  no  books  more  entertaining  than 

do  the  same  in  America.     The  bucks  of  Phiia-    well  written  travels.     They  charm  us  with  the 

dtflphia,  who  wish   to  qualify  themselves  for    variety  of  incidents  they  exhibit  to  our  view, 

genteel  company,  will  ho  doubt  hasten  to  be-    and  keep  alive  our  curiosity  by  the  hopes  they 

come  acquainted  with   Mr.   W.'s   newly  im-   continually  excite  of  more  interesting  partieu- 

ported  system  of  boring,  smoking,  hoaxing,  and   lars. 

quizzing.  Wherever  a  traveller  directs  his  way,wheth- 

Mr.  W.  has  with  great  mental  labor  and  er  among  the  savages  of  America,  the  sable 
difficulty  devised  a  mode  for  rendering  artifi-  hordes  of  Africa,  the  slaves  of  Asia,  or  the 
cial  wit  highly  useful  to  authors  and  publish-  civilized  barbarians  of  Europe,  he  may,  by  a 
ers  of  periodical  works.  He  intends  to  apply  judicious  selection  of  incidents,  and  pertinent 
immediately  to  the  government  of  the  United  observations,  render  the  narrative  of  his  jour- 
States  for  a  patent  to  secure,  to  the  inventor,  ney  amusing  and  instructive.  But  he  ought 
the  profits  arising  from  this  valuable  discovery,  to  remember  that  nothing  but  man  can  be 
Nothing. of  equal  importance  to  literary  men  highly  interesting  to  man;  and,  however  he 
has  come  lo  light  since  the  invention  of  print-  may  indulge  himself  occasionally  in  descrip- 
ing.  He  has  promised  to  communicate  this  tions  of  inanimate  nature,  a  frequent  recur- 
wonderful  secret  to  Piomingo,  headman  and  rence  of  pictures  in  which  no  human  being  18 
warrior  of  the  Muscogulgec  nation,  as  a  re-  exhibited  will  satiate  and  disgust  tiie  reader, 
compense  for  his  politeness  in  giving  this  ad-  It  may  be  observed  that  the  travels  of  a  man 
vertisement  a  place  in  The  Savage.  When  of  general  literature  are  always  more  amusing, 
Piomingo  shall  become  possessed  of  this  art,  than  those  of  one  whose  studies  have  been 
certain  sons  of  glee  will  no  longer  have  reason  principally  directed  to  some  particular  branch 
to  complain  of  the  dulness  and  insipidity  of  of  science. 

The  Savage:  they  will  meet  with  wit  of  their  ^  „,an  ^]^q  imagines  that  he  possesses  a 
own  kind,  and  quite  on  r  level  2cith  their  un-  talent  for  giving  his  reader  sketches  of  scenery, 
derstandings.  ^^jH  be  forever  directing  your  attention  to  the 

Mr.  W.  will  give   private  lessons  to  such    misty  azure  of  the  mountain,  the  naked  rocks, 

grown  gentlemen  as  have  unfortunately   not    and  the  jutting  promontory.     He  will  continu- 

had  the  opportunity  of  acquiring  these  genteel    ally  present  to  your  view  the  woody  valley,  the 

accomplishments  in  their  youth.  winding  stream,  and  the  far  extended  plain. 

,     „.  , ,     ,    „  ,  ~      .         .     Now  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  all  descrip- 

Mr.  W.  would  gladly  employ  a  few  mgeni-  tions  of  scenery  are  extremely  vague,and  rarely 
ous  assistants  to  enable  him  to  perform  with  p^gggnt  to  the  mind  any  definite  idea.  When 
ease  the  duties  of  the  academy.  Any  gentle-  ^^^  j^^^g  hg^j.^  ^f  o^g  mountain,  one  valley, 
man  who  is  fortunate  enough  to  have  an  enor- 
mously large  nose,  an  extremely  v/ide  mouth, 
or  wall-eyes,will  be  ajl  inestimable  acquisitioH 
to  the  institution,  and  vi-ill  meet  with  the  most 
liberal  reward. 


and  one  plain,  we  are  satisfied.  They  awaken 
in  our  minds  the  ideas  of  those  mountains, 
valleys  and  plains  which  we  ourselves  have 
seen  ;  and  the  remembrance  is  pleasing.  But 
f  these  images  continue  to  be  crowded  on  the 


Although  it  is  the  intention  of  Mr.  W.  that  mind  without  ceasing,  we  strive  in  vain  to  dis- 

his  pupils  shall  exercise  their  talents  on  each  tinguish  one  from  the  other,  and  finding  our 

other,  yet  he  has  thought  it  proper  to  furnish  selves  incapable  of  forming  any  distinct  ideas, 

himself  with  two  or  three  decrepid  old  men,  we  grow  weary  of  the  book  and  enraged  at  the 

several  lame  and  deformed  women  and  chil-  author. 

dren  three  or  four  idiots,  as  many  habitual  connoisseur  in  the  art  of  painting  or  eta- 
*drunkards,  and  half  a  dozen  maniacs,  who  may  .^  ^^^^^  ^  ^^^  ^  busts  or  pic- 
answer  the  purpose  of  huts,  on  which  the  ^^^^^  ^^  j^^^  ^^^-^^^^^  ^^^  any  thing  but  can- 
young  gent  emen  may  exercise  their  ^mzztcaZ  ^^^^^  ^^.  ^^^j^,^_  ^  gj^g  of  flesh  and 
talents.  This  arrangement  ,s  not  absolutely  ^.j^^j  ^s  altogether  unworthy  of  his  at- 
necessary,  yet  itanswers  one  valuable^  purpo.se  :  ^g^tion    While  he  Is  examining  the  respective 

•^  merits  of  the  Flemish  and  Italian  schools,  ex- 


it will  serve  to  destroy  those  foolish  feelings  ( 

humanity,  which  will  frequently  intrude  into  .^^^      ^^  ^^e  distinguishing  excellencies  of 

the  minds  of  youth,  and  have  been   known  to  ^g^^ra^dt  or  RaphaelT  enraptured  at  the  sight 

render  useless  the  most  promising  qmzztcal  ^^  ^^^   Medicean    Venus,  writhing  in  agony 

abilities.  ^jjj^  ^j^g  wretched  Laocoon,  or  expiring  with 

Medals  and  other  honorary  marks  of  dis-  ^^^  dying  gladiator,  every  common  occurrence 

tinctibn  wi'l  be  awarded  such  young  gentlemen  ^f  ufg  jg  disregarded.     His  reveries  may  be 

as  bring  sufficient  proof  that  they  have  per-  pjgasing  to  himself,  and  his  longwinded  de- 

formed  any  notable  act  o(  quizzing  in  the  city  ggriptions  may  gratify  the  coi^noscent  few ;  but, 

or  the  adjacent  country.  for  ^^  own  part,  we  had  rather  "  ply  the  la- 

For  terms  of  tuition  and  other  particulars  boring  oar"  than  follow  one  of  these   fellows 

apply  at  the  academy  in  Monkey  hall,  or  at  into  a  pantheon  of  marble  gods  or  a  gallery  of 

Mr,  W.'s  lodgings  No.  99  Apes'  alley.  pictures. 


w 


THE  8ATA<SE. 


Th»  general  reader  will  find  but  little  enter- 
tainment  in  the  travels  of  a  botanist.  While 
we  are  anxious  to  form  some  idea  of  the  coun- 
try to  which  the  travel. or  has  carried  us,  to  be 
made  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  the  soil 
and  climate,  and  to  hear  of  the  manners,  cus- 
toms, language,  laws,  an'l  religion  of  the  na- 
tives, the  itinerant  is  in  raptures  at  the  dis- 
covery of  a  new  species  of  convolvulus ;  and 
were  heaven  and  earth  to  be  shaken,  he  will 
not  be  disturbed  until  this  plant  shall  be  tech- 
nically described  in  pure  Linnean  Latin,  and 
have  received  its  distinctive  appellation,  gram- 
hrohslschnuckinna  from  the  learned  author's 
much  honored  friend,  Dr.  Groinbrobstschmuck, 
professor  of  botany  in  the  university  of  Gro- 
geuhogen.  After  we  have  attended  patiently 
to  the  class,  genus,  and  species,  of  this  new 
discovery,  we  are  in  hopes  of  some  information 
that  may  prove  more  interesting ;  and  some- 
times we  are  not  altogether  disappointed,  but 
w«  are  in  continual  danger  of  having  our  en- 
tertainment interrupted  by  the  shape  of  a  leaf, 
or  the  flowering  of  a  shrub. 

Naturalists,  who  have  become  habitually 
attentive  to  the  minute  wonders  of  creation, 
are  insufferably  tiresome  when  they  find  a 
variety  of  woodlice,  caterpillars,  or  grasshop- 
pers: man  and  his  operations,  must  remain 
unnoticed  while  their  attention  is  engrossed 
by  the  proboscis  of  an  insect. 

There  are  other  travellers  who  are  much 
too  fortunate  in  finding  curious  shells,  beauti- 
ful pieces  of  spar,  and  elegant  specimens  of 
rock  crystal.  They  examine  minutely  into 
the  different  layers  of  clay,  gravel,  and  loam, 
of  which  any  eminence  is  composed  ;  and  when 
they  meet  with  pyrites  or  rocks  of  granite, 
they  are  rather  too  tedious  in  their  disquisi- 
tions. 

We  must  however  acknowledge  that  the 
travels  of  these  gentlemen  may  be  extremely 
useful ;  and  are  often  amusing.  We  would 
only  remark,  that,  if  they  do  not  travel  for  the 
express  purpose  of  making  discoveries  in  their 
own  favorite  science,  too  great  a  share  of  their 
attention  is  devoted  to  things  which  are  not 
interesting  to  the  generality  of  readers.  They 
neem  to  forget  that  all  men  are  not  exclusively 
fond  of  botany,  minRralogy,  or  the  little  vvori- 
ders  of  nature. 

But  most  of  our  late  travellers  are  of  a  dif- 
ferent kind  from  any  we  have  yet  described. 
They  forsake  their  pleasant  firesides  and  other 
domestic  comforts,  for  the  purpose  of  having  a 
peep  at  the  world.  The  privations  to  which 
they  must  submit,  and  the  difiicultics  they  en- 
counter,  make  so  strong  an  imjjrcssion  on  their 
minds,  that  we  hear  of  nothing  but  the  bad- 
nesB  of  the  roads,  the  inconvenience  of  their 
vehicles,  and  the  wretched  accommodation  at 
the  inns.  Their  minds  are  generally  so  con- 
tracted by  the  narrowness  of  the  sphere  in 
which  they  have  hitherto  moved,  that  every 
thing  appears  to  be  wrong  which  is  not  con- 
ducted precisely  in  the  manner  they  have  seen 


it  conducted  in  their  native  town  or  village* 
They  make  no  allowance  for  the  operation  of 
causes  with  which  they  have  had  no  oppor- 
tunity of  becoming  acquainted  ;  and  they  con- 
demn the  necessary  result  of  circumstances  as- 
a  departure  from  the  order  of  nature. 

They  always  keep  an  account  of  their  eX' 
penditures,  and  make  the  most  pitiful  com- 
plaints of  the  extortions  practised  by  drivers, 
guides,  ferrymen,  and  the  keepers  of  turnpike 
gates.  They  arrive  wet,  weary,  hungry  and 
cold,  at  a  house  of  entertainment ;  but  here, 
alas  I  unfolds  a  fresh  scene  of  distress.  There 
is  no  fire  to  be  found;  the  apartments  are  damp 
and  disagreeable  ;  the  servants  are  lazy  and 
inattentive.  "  How  different  all  these,"  ejacu- 
lates the  miserable  traveller,  "  from  the  com- 
forts  and  conveniences  to  be  found  at  an  Eng- 
lish  inn  1"  When  dinner  appears,  he  hesitates 
some  time  whether  to  die  of  hungpr,  or  to 
satiate  its  cravings  with  the  wretched  prepara- 
tion  before  him  ;  but,  as  necessity  has  no  law, 
he  ventures,  at  last,  to  come  in  contact  with 
materials  se  disgusting  to  his  senses,  and  ab- 
horrent to  his  feelings.  He  expatiates  largely 
on  the  poorness  of  the  bread,  and  pours  forth 
the  most  piteous  lamentations  concerning  the 
toughness  of  tlie  goose  I 

A  late  celebrated  traveller  mourns  over  his 
fate  in  the  following  manner.  When  he  de- 
sired to  bo  shown  a  place  of  repose,  he  was 
conducted  to  a  chamber  that  resembled  a  dun- 
geon.  He  lay  down  on  a  hard  and  disagreea- 
ble bed  in  hopes  of  procuring  a  temporary 
rest;  but,  the  rushing  of  rats  behind  the  wain- 
scot, the  obstreperous  courtship  of  cats  in  an 
adjoining  apartment,  the  ceaseless  crowing  of 
a  hanty  cock  in  a  neighboring  building,  and 
the  furious  attack  of  a  troop  of  hungry  fleas, 
frighted  away  the  drowsy  god  from  the  eyelid* 
of  the  weary  guest. 

Such  particulars  would  hardly  be  tolerated 
in  a  private  letter  to  a  friend  y  but  become  in- 
sufferable when  they  occupy  the  greater  part 
of  a  book  designed  for  the  instruction  and 
amusement  of  the  public  Travellers  should 
remember  that  it  is  not  from  any  interest  we 
take  in  their  personal  concerns,  that  we  are 
disposed  to  accompany  them  through  the  his- 
tory of  their  peregrinations  ;  but  from  a  desire 
of  being  made  partakers  of  the  amusements 
and  pleasures  of  the  journey. 

When  a  traveller  pervades  any  region  at  an 
immense  distance  from  the  place  of  his  birth— 
where  none  of  his  countrymen  have  ever  been, 
and  where  it  is  not  reasonable  to  suppose  any 
of  tliein  ever  will  be — there  is  great  danger 
of  his  meeting  with  pygmies,  giants,  and  sala- 
manders. 

From  Crito. 

I  feel  inclined  at  present,  Piomingo,  to  oflTer 
a  short  apology  for  those  who  are  in  the  habit 
of  using  the  verb,  progress,  in  their  writings 
or  their  conversation. 

It  is  not  synonymous  with  th«  verb, procew/  i 


THE  SAVAGE. 


61 


it  sigfuifies  to  proceed  with  some  business,  or 
to  advance  regularly  a  set  of  operations. 

It  fills  up  one  of  those  niches  in  lang^uage 
which  Mr.  Walker  says  should  never  be  empty. 
The  same  arguments  may  certainly  be  ad- 
duced in  its  favor,  that  the  author  just  men- 
tioned brings  forward  in  support  of  others  in 
the  like  situation. 

"  I  have  not  found,"  says  Mr,  Walker  under 
the  word  panegyrize,  "  I  have  not  found  this 
word  in  any  of  our  dictionaries,  but  liave  met 
with  it  in  so  respectable  a  writer,  that  I  cannot 
resist  the  temptation  of  inserting  it  here; 
especially  as  it  serves  to  fill  up  a  niche  in  lan- 
guage, which  I  think  never  should  be  empty  : 
I  mean,  that  wherever  there  is  a  noun  estab- 
lished, there  should  always  be  a  verb  to  cor- 
respond to  it."  Again:  under  the  verb /?(7»ff. 
lize,  he  observes,  "  the  very  general  use  of 
this  word,  especially  since  the  French  revolu- 
tion, seems  to  entitle  it  to  a  place  in  the  dic- 
tionaries of  our  language,  as  it  not  only  more 
forcibly  expresses  the  common  idea  than  to 
enervate  or  to  deaden,  but  serves  to  fill  up  those 
vacancies  in  speech,  where  there  is  no  verb  to 
correspond  to  a  substantive  or  adjective. 
Hence  Pope's  happy  coinage  of  the  verb  to 
sensualize." 

All  these  considerations  speak  as  much  in 
favor  of  progress  as  of  panegyrize  and  paralize  ; 
but  this  verb  has  yet  other  and  stronger  argu- 
ments that  may  be  brought  forward  in  its 
defence. 

It  is  found  in  several  English  dictionaries  : 
and  Dr.  Ash,  gives  Shak.speare  as  hi.s  author- 
ity." "  Doth  progress  on  thy  cheek ;"  though 
it  may  be  observed  that  he  places  the  accent 
on  the  first  syllable. 

It  is  admitted  that  this  verb  is  not  to  be 
found  in  Johnson's  dictionary  ;  but  that  offers 
no  conclusive  argument  against  its  antiquity; 
since  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  several 
words  in  common  use  at  that  time  were  in- 
advertently omitted  by  the  greatest  of  philolo- 
gists. 

Zeno. 

The  stoics  taught  that  happiness  was  only 
to  be  found  in  the  practice  of  virtue.  They 
denied  that  health,  reputation,  and  riches  were, 
properly  speaking,  goorf;  and  they  contended 
that  poverty,  ignominy,  and  pain  were  not 
«»i7s.  "  Virtue  alone,"  said  their  founder,  "  is 
sufficient  to  happiness  ;  and  the  wise  man  may 
enjoy  it  at  all  times,  be  his  condition  what  it 
may." 

Zeno  is  said  to  have  died  at  the  age  of  ninety 
eight  years,  having  never  experienced  any 
sickntss  or  indisposition  whatever. — Had  Zeno 
been  the  victim  of  pain,  reproach  and  poverty, 
would  he  have  taught  that  these  things  were 

Bot  evils  ?  

Piomingo. 

It  has  been  lately  asserted  that  there  is  no 
such  man  as  Piomingo  in%xistence.  Shall  we 
exhibit  ourself  to  the  public  on  some  market 


day  ?  Or  what  plan  shall  we  adopt  to  satisfy 
the  world  that  there  is  suoh  a  savage  in  exis- 
tence ;  and  that  he  exists  in  Philadelphia  ? 

If  this  report  continue  to  be  propagated 
much  longer,  we  shall  be  under  the  necessity 
of  showing  our  savage  self,  in  our  Indian  dress 
some  Sunday  afternoon  at  the  Centre  Square  ; 
when  we  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  convince  the 
most  incredulous  of  the  actual  existence  of 
the  savage,  Piomingo. 

We  have  told  our  story ;  and  we  are  ex- 
tremely sorry  to  find  that  it  has  not  met  with 
universal  credence.  We  shall  not  repeat  it ; 
but  invite  those  who  may  be  desirous  of  re- 
freshing their  memories,  to  turn  once  more  to 
our  prospectus.  Is  the  tale  improbable  ?  May 
not  such  things  be  ?  And  would  not  such  a 
one  as  is  there  described  be  capable  of  compar- 
ing  the  manners  and  customs  of  savages  with 
those  of  civilized  nations?  The  reader  is  at 
liberty  to  believe  as  much  as  he  pleases;  but 
it  certainly  requires  no  great  stretch  of  the 
imagination  to  enable  any  one  to  enter  into  the 
plan  of  our  work. 


Cards. 

Is  it  not  a  little  surprising  that  these  paint- 
ed papers  should  possess  such  charms  as  to 
be  able  to  captivate  all  hearts  m  civilized  so- 
ciety ?  Is  there  some  magicaJ  influence  resi- 
dent in  the  paper  or  coloring  which  is  elicited 
by  the  dexterous  motions  of  the  players  ?  Or 
are  we  to  attribute  the  power  which  they  pos- 
sess over  the  minds  of  men  to  some  extraneous 
cause  connected  with  their  movements  ? 

Being  lately  in  a  house  where  several  par- 
ties  were  engaged  at  cards,  we  observed 
among  the  rest  an  old  man,  who,  from  his  ap- 
pearance, must  be  advancing  rapidly  to  the 
end  of  his  earthly  pilgrimage.  Although  his 
hand  trembled,  we  could  not  bat  take  notice 
that  he  handled  the  instruments  of  his  amuse- 
ment with  uncommon  ease  and  dexterity.  He 
generally  appeared  solicitously  attentive  to  the 
operations  in  hand  until  he  brought  some  fa- 
voritc  project  to  bear,  when  he  would  give  for 
a  few  moments  free  way  to  his  emotions  of 
exultation  and  joy.  When  he  had  enjoyed  his 
triumph,  he  always  appeared  eager  to  engage 
in  a  new  contest,  and  again  displayed  the  same 
restless  anxiety  for  the  victory  that  he  had 
done  before.  There  was  always  a  small  stake 
depending  on  the  issue  of  the  game,  which  he 
frequently  eyed  with  solicitude,  and,  if  suc- 
cessful in  play,  ai)propriated  to  himself  with 
every  appearance  of  gladness  and  triumph.  If 
he  failed  in  the  contest,  we  could  always  dis- 
cover an  air  of  dissatisfaction  in  his  contenanco 
which  he  endeavored  vainly  to  conceal ;  but 
he  continually  attributed  the  cause  of  his 
failure  to  something  totally  independent  of 
himself— the  ungenerous  play  of  his  antago- 
nist, or  the  unskilfulness  of  his  partner.  The 
pleasure  of  victory  did  not  appear  to  result 
wholly  from  the  pecuniary  acquisition  he  had 
mads ;  but  to  proceed  also  from  the  display  of 


ns  THE  SAVAGE. 

liis  own  superiority  and  the  discomfiture  of  tenances  of  the  plaj'crs.     We  admired  the  in- 
his  opponent.  pcnuity  discovered  in  the  cuttimr  of  some,  and 

Alter  the  most  of  the  ])I;iyers,  weary  of  the  the  dexterity  displayed  in  the  shuffling  of 
diversion,  liad  departed,  the  old  man  still  con-  others;  but  as  we  had  no  stake  depending,  as 
tinned  at  the  table,  holding-  the  cards  in  his  we  felt  none  of  those  passions  that  warmed  the 
hand,  as  if  anxious  for  a  fresh  encounter.  We  breasts  of  the  combatants,  in  fine,  as  their 
approached  the  veteran  gamester,  and  cndea-  pursuits  appeared  to  us  childish  and  contempti- 
vored  to  enter  into  conversation ;  but  the  only  ble,  we  began  to  be  weary  of  our  situation, 
reply  he  made  to  our  observations  was  to  de-  W^e  remembered  that  we  had  no  business  there, 
mand  whether  or  not  we  were  disposed  to  take  and  made  haste  to  leave  the  assembly. 
a  hand  at  cards.  We  assented  ;  but  as  our  Returning  to  our  lodging  at  a  late  hour,  we 
unskilfulness  at  the  game  afforded  him  an  sat  down  to  ruminate  on  what  we  had  seen, 
easy  victory,  he  soon  became  dissatisfied,  and  The  pursuits  of  life  appeared  to  bear  a  striking 
signified  his  inclination  to  discontinue  the  resemblance  to  a  party  at  cards.  There  is  the 
amusement.  We  readily  acceded  :  and  from  same  eager  anxiety  for  the  success  of  a  favorite 
this  circumstance  we  drew  the  conclusion,  that  scheme  ;  and  the  same  momentary  exultation 
a  great  part  of  his  enjoyment  proceeded  from  wi.'on  the  issue  is  fortunate.  There  is  the 
a  successful  exertion  of  his  powers;  and  that  same  restless  pii)pensily  to  enter  into  a  fresh 
the  more  arduous  the  struggle,  the  greater  the  contest;  and  the  same  marks  of  anguish  and 
jjratification  resulting  from  the  conquest.  disappointment     when    we     are     vanquished. 

We  inquired  of  the  old  gentleman  if  he  de-  There  is  the  same  ambition  of  displaying  our 
rived  much  entertainment  from  cards.     "  No,"    powers,  the  same  emulation  and  strife  for  su- 
said  he,  "not  much  :  they  serve  to  kill  time."    periority, and  the  same  avaricious  inclinations. 
"  Your  are  not  then,"  wc  replied,  "solicitous    And  these  passions,  increasing  with   our   age 
for  the  issue  of  the   game  on  account  of  the    and   infirmities,  appear   to  discover  most  im- 
money  tJiat  is  deposited?"  "Damn  the  money  I"    petnowity  near  the  close  of  our  days, 
said  he,  in  a  passion,  "  1  care  not  for  the  trash  :        But  what  shall  we  say  of  the   melancholy 
I   play   for   amusement."     "Why    then,"   we    observer,  who   moves  from  one   scene  of  con- 
ventured   to    inquire,  "  should    there    be   any    tcTition  to   another  without   finding  any  thing 
stake  at  all,  since  it  is  an  object  beneath  your   snlficiently  attractive  to  interest  his  passions  or 
attention  ?"     "  Because,"  said   he,  with  a  su-    av»'akcn  his   anxiety  ?     What  business  has  he 
pereilious  smile,  "there  n\ust  be  something   in  the  world  to  whom  the  world  is  a  desert? 
betted  to  render  the  game  interestin^p."  Here,    If  the  pleasures,  pursuits  and  employments  of 
Bs  if  ashamed  of  holding  a  conversation  with  a   men  become  insipid  riid  vain,  it  is  time  to  quit 
person  so  ignorant  of  Z/'/c  as  we  appeared  to  be,    the  stage  and  give  place  to  others, 
he  turned  round  to  one  who  had  just  entered.        Oppressed  with  these  disconsolate  reflections 
and  began   a  new  game,  to  kill  time — to  win    we  fell  asleep  in  our  chair,  and  found  oursclf 
money — to  exercise  his  powers — and  to  Iri-    in  a  green  field  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio.     It 
umph  over  his  adversary.  was   a   delightfiil   evening;    the   winds   were 

This  occurrence  led  us  to  reflect  that  when  hushed  ;  the  sun  was  descending  in  the  west ; 
we  arrive  even  at  the  verge  of  life,  time  will  and  the  clouds  were  dyed  with  crinison  and 
still  hang  heavy  on  our  hands,  since  we  are  gold.  The  flocks  were  about  to  leave  their 
reduced  to  such  miserable  expedients  to  while  pasture;  the  birds  were  preparing  to  seek 
away  the  lingering  hours,  and  shut  out  obstru-  refuge  in  the  neighboring  trees;  and  millions 
sive  thoughts.  We  were  also  led  to  draw  the  of  insects  were  enjoying  the  last  beams  of  the 
conclusion,  that,vvhalevcr  incli'iatior.  men  may  departing  sun.  We  were  carried  from  one 
discover  ibr  play,  there  is  nothing  wi  1  make  place  to  another  with  a  light  and  easy  motion, 
the  game  interesting,  but  the  avaricious  hope  and  the  tranquillity  of  nature  reigned  in  our 
of  accumulating  money  :  avariee  is  the  ruling  bosom;  but  our  attention  was  suddenly  ar- 
paasion  of  civilized  man.  rested  by  tiie  appearance  of  a  young  man   on 

While  we  were  occupied  with  these  thoughts,  the  banks  of  the  river.  His  visage  was  pale, 
afresh  multitude  had  entered  the  house.  Tiiere  and  his  dress  disordered.  He  walked  hastily 
was  much  bustle  and  preparation.  The  tables  up  and  down  with  an  air  of  distraction, 
were  filled  with  players.  On  one  side  was  a  While  we  regarded  him  with  umte  astonish- 
company  engaged  at  loo;  on  the  other  was  a  ment,  he  exclaimed  with  a  loud  voice,  "It 
party  at  jo/nsf.  These  [)layed  cribhage ;  and  shall  be  done!"  and  plunged  headlong  into  the 
these  eucre ;  and  here  a  set  of  noisy  lads  were    stream. 

engaged  at  their  favorite  allfours.  At  first.  It  seems  as  though  we  were  inclined  to  do  a 
universal  anxiety  pervaded  the  assembly  ;  and  good  action  in  our  sleep,  for  we  do  not  remem- 
the  most  strenuous  exertions  for  victory  were  ber  that  we  felt  any  prudential  hesitation  at 
employed  by  the  parlies.  But  as  all  could  not  that  moment.  Wc  rushed  into  the  flood  and 
conquer,  suddenly  our  cars  were  saluted  with  bore  him  to  the  shore.  He  lay  some  time  ap- 
shouts  of  exultation  from  some,  and  curses  of  parently  lifeless.  The  water  gushed  from  his 
disappointment  from  others.  We  went  from  mouth  and  nostrils.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and 
one  table  to  the  other,  and  contemplated  the  regarding  us  with  a  look  of  despair  and  re- 
yarioHS  emotions  "that  were  visible  in  the  coun-    proach,  he  exclaimed,  "The  struggle  was  past'. 


THE  SAVAGE. 


63 


1  had  vanquished  my  adversary — and  now 
again  I  must  endure  the  fever  of  life  ;  again  I 
must  taste  the  bitterness  of  death — you  arc  also 
my  enemy  !" 

Wc  attempted  to  speak ;  but  he  would  not 
hear  us.  He  stood  up  and  compelled  us  to  be 
silent. 

"  My  name  has  perished.  I  am  sick  of  my 
existence.  Why  would  you  save  him  who  is 
determined  to  die  ?  You  are  also  my  enemy  I 

I  iiave  tasted  the  pleasures  of  life;  but  I  have 
found  tiicm  bitter.  I  was  warm  in  friendship 
and  enthusiastic  in  love;  but  my  friends  were 
perfidious,  and  my  n)istress  was  false. 

I  engdg-ed  in  the  [)ursuils  of  the  world;  but  I 
was  not  possessed  of  cnnnin'.',  duplicity,  ser- 
vility, and  meanness ; — my  attempt  was  un- 
successful. 

I  said,  I  will  be  as  a  stranger  on  the  earth. 
I  will  draw  amusement  from  the  |)iirsuits  of 
these  mortals  that  surround  me  ;  but  tlieir  vice 
was  offensive,  and  their  follies  disgusting. 

When  the  trumpet  of  fame  no  longer  is 
heard  ;  when  honor  and  glory  no  longer  call ; 
when  friendship  no  longer  deludes ;  v^hcn 
passion  no  longer  impels  ;  when  the  sunrshine 
of  hope  has  ceased  to  illumine  our  footsteps; 
what  then  ? — It  is  time  to  die. 

Hark  !  I  hear  even  now,  through  the  gath- 
ering gloom  of  night,  the  still  small  voice 
which  the  prophet  heard  in  the  wilderness, 
What  dost  thou  here  Elijah? — I  do  nothing 
here  :  I  must  be  gone."  So  saying,  he  darted 
into  the  flood ;  and  we  saw  him  no  more. 

It  had  become  dark  ;  the  cold  winds  rushed 
along  the  face  of  the  stream ;  and  the  chill 
damps  of  the  night  overcame  us. 

Wc  awoke;  our  fire  had  burned  down;  the 
candle  had  sunk  into  the  socket ;  the  watch- 
man was  proclaiming  ''  half  past  two  o'clock ;" 
and  we  hastened  to  our  bed,  repeating  "Thank 
God,  'twas  but  a  dream  !" 

The  Savage  at  the  Theatre. 

When  we  first  arrived  in  this  city,  we  pro- 
mised ourself  uncommon  delight  from  theatri- 
cal representations  ;  but  we  must  acknowledge 
that  we  were  rather  disappointed  in  our  ex. 
pect.ation.  The  illusion  was  not  so  complete 
as  we  had  fancied  it  would  be  ;  and  we  gene- 
rally left  the  performance  dissatisfied.  From 
these  and  other  considerations  it  has  so  happen- 
ed that  we  have  been  rather  an  unfrequcnt  atten- 
dant at  the  theatre ;  but  have  occasionally  ap- 
peared there,  either  from  the  impulse  of  the 
moment,  the  character  of  the  play,  or  the  fame 
of  the  actor. 

On  a  late  occasion  we  were  drawn  to  the 
house  by  the  fame  of  master  Payne  and  the 
long  established  celebrity  of  Hamlet,  prince  of 
Denmark.  The  place  was  uncommonly  crowd- 
ed ;  and  it  was  with  no  little  difficulty  that  we 
were  enabled  to  get  a  view  of  the  perfor- 
mance. 

"  This  then  is  master  Payne,  the  idol  of  the 
moment,  whom  it  is  fashionable  to  commend, 


and  heresy  to  condemn,  How  long  will  he 
be  distinguished  by  the  breath  of  public  ap- 
plause ?  How  long  will  he  delight  the  world 
with  his  talents  before  some  new  wonder  will 
arise  to  supersede  him  ?" 

Such  were  our  thoughts.  We  were  how- 
ever pleased  with  his  easy  carriage  and  "race- 
ful  movements.  He  has  imitated  successfully 
the  attitudes  and  gestures  of  his  predecessors 
on  the  stage  ;  and  will  no  doubt  become,  if 
the  public  will  permit  him,  an  actor  of  emi- 
nence. 

It  is  vain  to  look  for  originality  in  a  per- 
former, since  every  thing  is  conducted  by  rule. 
The  audience  would  not  tolerate  a  departure 
from  any  of  those  postures  and  evolutions 
sanctified  by  custom  and  become  necessary  to 
their  entertainment.  They  are  pleased  with 
the  recurrence  of  those  objects  which  habit  has 
rendered  familiar,  and  would  complain  of  their 
omission  as  a  daring  and  useless  mnovation. 

The  position  taken  by  Hamlet  at  the  first 
appear-mceof  the  ghost  struck  us  as  unnatural 
and  painful,  but  there  may  be  some  theiitrical 
propriety  in  it  of  which  we  can  form  no  idea, 
therefore  wc  shall  pass  it  by  without  further 
observation.  Hamlet  h:id  come  with  the  ex- 
press purpose  of  seeing  and  accosting  the  spirit; 
his  mind  was  agitated  by  a  variety  of  emotions, 
and  worked  up  to  a  state  of  preternatural 
energy ;  why  then  should  an  actor,  in  this 
part,  endeavor  to  exhibit  the  awkward  amaze- 
ment of  a  clown  who  sees  a  white  horse  graz- 
ing in  a  country  churchyard  ? 

The  sentiments,  given  to  Hamlet  by  the 
author,  discover  dignity  of  soul,  resolution  of 
mind,  and  contempt  of  death.  Ought  not 
something  of  all  this  to  appear  in  his  deport- 
ment t 

Why,  what  should  be  the  fear? 

I  do  not  set  my  life  at  a  pin's  fee ; 

And,  for  my  soul,  what  can  it  do  to  that? 

Being  a  thmg  immortal  as  ilself. 

It  waves  me  forth  again  ;— I'll  follow  it. 

Again — 

My  fate  cries  out,' 
And  makes  each  petty  artery  in  this  body 
As  hardy  as  the  Nemean  lion's  nerve. 
Still  r  am  call'd  ; — unhand  me  gentlemen — 
By  heaven,  I'll  make  a  ghost  of  him  that  lets  me: 
I  say,  away  : — Goon, — I'll  follow  thee. 

And  he  should  follow  it  with  a  firm  step  and 
desperate  resolution.  What  then  ?  Shall  the 
crowd  be  deprived  of  a  charming  spectacle  ? 
Shall  we  no  longer  be  entertained  with  that 
hopping  sliding  fantastic  move7nent\v\i\\  which 
Hamlet  has  danced  after  the  ghost  for  ages  ? 
The  play  would  be  ruined  by  such  savage  in- 
novations ! 

It  is  probable  this  dramatic  caper  may  be 
traced  back  to  Garrick  or  some  other  hero  of 
the  stage ;  but  we  will  give  our  silvermounted 
tobacco  pipe  to  any  Thespian  critic  who  will 
convince  us  of  its  propriety,  or  show  any  good 
reason  for  its  longer  continuance. 


04 


THE  SAVAGE. 


In  our  opinion,  the  character  of  Polonius 
was  well  supported  ;  but  the  multitude  are  ever 
disposed  to  l.iugh  when  Mr.  Jefferson  ;ippears, 
•whether  what  he  may  have  to  deliver  be  cal- 
culated to  excite  merriment  or  otherwise, 

Ophelia  was  intercstinjr.  We  were  more 
than  satisfied  with  the  pertbrmance  of  Mrs. 
Wilmof;  but  when  she  approached  her  brother, 
saying  "  I  would  give  you  some  violets;  but 
they  witiiered  all,  when  my  fatlier  dii;d" — we 
forgot  the  theatre,  the  play,  and  every  thing, 
but  the  sorrows  of  Ophelia. 


THE  SAVAGE— NO.  XII. 

Conunerce. 

In  our  last  nnniber  we  took  some  notice  of 
the  effects  of  commerce.  We  showed,  in  our 
opinion,  clearly  that  it  has  a  tendency  to 
weaken  local  partialities,  eradicate  salutary 
prejudices,  and  render  every  thing  contempti- 
ble in  the  eyes  of  men  hut  the  acquisition  of 
riches.  We  showed  that  the  generous  feelings 
of  patriotism  were  incompatible  with  the  in- 
terests and  pursuits  of  a  merchant ;  and  that 
the  laws,  religion,  and  manners  of  any  par- 
ticular nation  must  lose  all  their  influence  over 
the  mind  of  him  who  no  longer  considers  his 
interest  as  identified  with  the  welfare  of  that 
nation.  If  therefore  we  value  the  advantages 
that  result  from  local  institutions,  how  should 
we  be  a  friend  to  commerce? 

All  the  world  know  that  nothing  promotes 
individual  wealth  with  such  astonishing  rapi- 
dity as  commerce ;  and  we  have  heretofore 
shown  the  consequences  that  inevitably  flow 
from  the  accumulation  of  riches  in  the  hands 
of  individuals.  If  then  we  feel  desirous  of 
-seeing  our  species  virtuous  and  happy,  how 
should  we  be  a  friend  to  commerce  ? 

In  all  our  lucubrations  we  have  endeavored 
to  establish,  in  the  first  place,  certain  funda- 
mental principles;  and  from  these  we  have 
deduced  our  arguments.  If  any  one,  from  a 
partial  view  of  the  subject,  shall  condemn  our 
conclusions  without  examining  the  reasonings 
on  which  they  are  founded,  we  cannot  help  it; 
the  fault  is  not  in  us  but  in  himself. 

When  a  proposition  is  established  by  con- 
clusive arguments  drawn  from  general  princi- 
ples, there  seems  to  be  no  occasion  to  draw 
additional  aid  from  adventitious  considerations. 
When  :e  arises  the  necessity  of  wooden  props 
to  support  an  edifice  founded  on  a  rock  ? 

Were  the  case  otherwise,  we  know  of  no 
difficulty  in  finding  collateral  arguments  to 
prove  the  pernicious  effects  of  commerce  upon 
the  morals  and  happiness  of  society,  and  upm 
the  vigor  and  prosperity  of  nations.  We  might 
easily  point  out  the  virtues  and  energies  of 
kingdoms  and  republics  while  separated  from 
the  world  and  under  the  influence  of  their  local 
institutions,  and  aP.erwards  mark  their  profli- 
gacy  and  degeneracy  when  commerce  had 
made  them  acquainted  with  the  luxuries,  vices, 
and  refinements  of  the  world.  There  is  no 
period  of  ancient  or  modern  history  from  which 


wc  could  not  bring  examples  to  illustrate  and 
confirm  our  opinions.  If  we  should  be  told  of 
the  superstitions  and  crimes  which  sometimes 
darken  and  deform  the  history  of  isolated  na- 
ti"ns,  we  might  reply  that  these  are  not  the 
necessary  resultof  their  situation  ;  but,  admit- 
ting the  worst,  how  much  more  desirable  their 
condition  thyn  that  of  nations  brutalized  by 
the  sorceries  of  commerce  ? 

But  if  it  be  said  that  commerce  increases 
the  wealth  and  contributes  to  the  prosperity  of 
a  nation,  we  are  at  liberty  to  inquire  in  what 
manner  tiiis  is  effected.  Does  it  increase  the 
number  of  virtuous  and  loyal  citizens  attached 
to  their  country  and  devoted  to  its  interests  ? 
Or  are  we  to  suppose  that  it  enriches  the  nation 
by  increasing  the  wealth  of  a  few  individuals? 
Will  the  nation  be  great  and  happy  because 
"  merchants  become  princes"  surrounded  by 
crowds  of  menials  and  mercenary  dependents? 
Does  the  nation  become  powerful  because  its 
citizens  are  continually  subjected  more  and 
more  to  the  influence  of  men  who  are  destitute 
of  local  attachments  ?  [To  be  continued. 

December  25,  Morning. 

This  is  Christmas,  Piomingo :  and  I  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  write  this  letter  for  the 
express  purpose  of  letting  you  know  it.  Al- 
though this  is  a  christian  festival,  and  you 
reside  at  present  in  a  christian  country,  yet  if 
I  had  not  given  you  this  information,  it  is 
more  than  probable  that  the  day  would  have 
passed  over  without  your  having  any  know- 
ledge of  the  circumstance. 

I  would  give  a  thousand  dollars  to  be  in  the 
interior  of  the  country  at  this  moment,  that  I 
might  partake  of  the  mirth  and  festivity  that 
prevail  among  rustic  swains  who  are  not  yet 
too  wise  to  be  happy.  There,  Piomingo,  the 
young  and  the  old,  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the 
wise  and  the  foolish,  desist  from  their  labors, 
banish  their  cares,  and  give  a  loose  to  the  joys 
of  the  season. 

Five  or  six  years  ago,  I  spent  a  winter  much 
to  my  satisfaction  in  the  western  country  ;  and 
was  rejoiced  to  find  the  good  people  of  those 
parts  not  so  forgetful  of  the  relieion  of  their 
fathers  as  to  neglect  the  good  old  festival  of 
Christmas.  The  old  gray-bearded  patriarchs 
meet  together  to  eat  and  drink  and  laugh  and 
boast  of  the  marvellous  exploits  they  have  per- 
formed  in  their  boyish  days.  The  young  as- 
semble to  dance  and  sing  and  discover  their 
prowess  by  feats  of  strength  and  agility. 

But  what  pleased  me  most  was  a  barring, 
out:  do  you  know  what  that  is,  Piomingo? 
I  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of  describing  it; 
for  how  should  a  savage  like  you  know  any 
thing  about  a  barring-out? 

Know  then,  O  thou  unideaed  barbarian ! 
that  in  the  interior  parts  of  this  continent  the 
young  men  and  boys  (agreeably  to  a  good  old 
custom  transmitted  from  father  to  son  for 
many  generations)  maintain  the  privilege  of 


THE  SAVAGE. 


6ft 


harring-otit    their   sehoolmasters  some    days 
previous  to  the  Christmas  festival. 

They  repair  to  the  schoolhouse  in  the  night ; 
and,  having  laid  in  a  stock  of  provisions  and 
prepared  a  great  variety  of  weapons  offensive 
and  defensive,  they  barricade  the  door  and 
wait  the  coming  of  tlieir  tyrant  with  heroic 
resolution. 

The  dreaded  hour  arrives.  The  pedagogue 
appears  with  his  usual  importance  ;  and,  per- 
ceiving the  rebellious  disposition  evinced  by 
his  subjects,  demands  admittance  with  a  voice 
of  thunder.  He  is  repulsed.  He  assumes  the 
most  terrific  countenance,  and  threatens  de- 
struction to  every  one  who  shall  persist  in 
opposition  to  the  commands  of  the  sovereign. 

Finding  menaces  ineffectual,  he  has  recourse 
to  entreaty ;  and  endeavors  to  gain  admittance 
by  stratagem.  The  rebels  are  not  to  be  thrown 
off  their  guard  by  specious  pretences  and  pro- 
fessions of  amity.  He  endeavors  to  force  an 
entrance  by  the  door  and  by  the  windows ; 
but  being  foiled  in  every  attempt,  he  retreats 
to  the  coHntry,  and  soon  raises  a  posse  of  fif- 
teen or  twenty  young  men  to  assist  him  in  re- 
conquering his  dominions. 

They  approach  the  fort,  armed  with  cudgels, 
in  military  array,  and  with  flying  colors.  The 
drum  beats  to  arms  in  the  garrison  :  and  the 
flag  of  defiance  is  hoisted  from  the  top  of  the 
chimney.  A  summons  to  surrender  is  ans- 
wered by  a  resolute  refusal ;  and  an  instant 
assault  is  the  consequence. 

The  assailants  attack  the  door  with  battering 
engines,  and  storm  the  windows  with  impetu- 
ous fury.  But  showers  of  fire,  stones,  brick, 
bats,  and  wooden  spears,  are  poured  from  the 
windows.  The  pedagogical  army  is  at  length 
repulsed,  and  retreats  in  confusion. 

Not  however  intimidated  by  a  first  defeat, 
they  renew  the  attack  with  redoubled  resolu- 
tion. Scaling  ladders  are  applied  to  the  walls ; 
and  they  mount  on  the  top  of  the  building. 
They  tear  up  the  roof,  and,  throwing  down 
shingles  with  fury,  they  threaten  destruction 
to  the  garrison.  But  showers  of  missiles  from 
below,  and  the  vengeful  points  of  a  hundred 
spears,  oblige  them  to  retreat  from  their  peril- 
ous situation. 

Worsted  in  this  second  attempt,  they  recede 
to  a  respectful  distance,  kindle  fires,  and  erect 
tents  to  repel  the  inclemencies  of  the  season. 
The  siege  becomes  a  blockade.  The  besiegers 
endeavor  to  intercept  the  provisions  designed 
for  the  relief  of  the  garrison;  and  the  besieged, 
sometimes,  make  resistless  sallies,  storm  the 
camp  of  the  enemy,  and  bear  away  the  whiskey 
keg  and  other  necessaries  of  life,  in  triumph  to 
the  string  hold  of  rebellion. 

The  siege  is  continued  for  several  days, 
sometimes  for  a  week.  Sentinels  are  stationed 
during  the  night ;  watchwords  are  given  ;  and 
every  thing  is  conducted  in  military  style. 

However,  at  length,  the  minds  of  the  bellige- 
rents, from  various  considerations  not  neces- 
sary to  be  mentioned,  begin  to  be  disposed  for 


an  accommodation.  Articles  of  capitulation 
are  drawn  up,  and  signed  by  the  parties.  The 
rebels  engage  to  return  to  their  allegiance ; 
and  the  teacher  to  grant  them  a  specified  num- 
ber of  Christmas  holidays,  that  they  may  visit 
their  relations,  and  make  merry  with  their 
companions.  The  aflfair  is  concluded  by  a 
plentiful  dinner  in  the  schoolhouse.  All  is 
harmony. 

What  do  you  think  of  a  barring-oat  ?  Is  it 
not  a  most  animating  conflict?  The  very 
image  of  war,  nay  sometimes  war  itself;  fori 
forgot  to  tell  you  that  occasionally  the  peda- 
gogue's party  proves  victorious.  The  van- 
quished boys  return  to  their  books  with  shame 
and  confusion;  and  are  no  longer  cheered 
with  the  prospect  of  mirth  and  festivity. 

Upon  looking  over  what  I  have  written,  I 

think Shall   I  tell  you  what   I  think,  Pio- 

mingo?  I  think — but  I  am  afi-aid  you  will 
make  some  satirical  observation  on  my  vanity 
and  presumption.  However,  out  it  must  come. 
I  think  I  have  a  wonderful  talent  for  composi- 
tion. I  should  excel  in  the  description  of  bat- 
tles. Faith,  I  have  a  notion  to  try  my  hand 
at  an  epic  poem  on  this  subject.  But  then  I 
should  be  puzzled  to  find  a  name  of  sufficient 
dignity:  a  great  deal  depends  on  a  name, 
Piomingo. 

This  is  Christmas.  You  must  be  merry  if 
you  can.  We  cannot  treat  you  with  a  death 
song,  a  war  dance,  or  a  feast  of  new  corn,  in 
this  civilized  country  ;  but  we  will  allow  you 
to  get  drunk  in  honor  of  the  day,  if  you  have 
the  money  requisite  for  that  purpose. 

Farewell.  I  am  to  dine  with  my  aunt.  She 
has  made  some  extraordinary  preparations. 
The  idea  of  aunt  Sarah  Poorly  cools  the  fervor 
of  my  imagination. 

I  am,  dear  Savage,  Yours, 

T.  Rattle. 

As  we  derived  comsiderable  amusement  from 
the  perusal  of  the  foregoing  letter,  we  con- 
cluded that  it  might  afford  a  momentary  en. 
tertainment  to  the  public.  The  writer  has 
given  a  faithful  description  of  a  barring-out, 
which  will  not  be  destitute  of  novelty  to  some 
of  our  readers.  We  would  not  however  advise 
Rattle  to  write  an  epic  poem  on  the  subject, 
for  several  reasons.  As  he  himself  justly  re- 
marks, it  would  be  almost  impossible  to  find  a 
sesquipedalian  title :  Barringoutiad,  though  a 
highsounding  word,  is  too  ignoble  in  its  origin 
to  answer  the  purpose.  The  subject  itself  does 
not  appear  to  possess  sufficient  dignity  for  an 
epopea ;  and  it  would  require,  we  are  afraid, 
more  genius  than  our  friend  possesses  to  intro- 
duce suitable  machinery.  Who  would  be  the 
hero  of  the  poem  ?  and  what  would  be  the 
moral  tendency  of  the  performance  ?  For  it  is 
to  be  remembered  that  in  every  heroic  poem 
not  only  a  poetical  but  a  moral  object  is  to  be 
discovered.  The  poet,  though  "  wild  warm" 
he  sings  the  actions  of  heroes  and  the  exploits 
of  the  gods,  calculates  with  philosophic  eool- 


66 


THE  SAVAGE. 


ne*i  what  may  be  the  moral  effects   of  his 
verses  on  future  generations. 

We  assure  our  friend  Rattle  that  we  love,  as 
well  as  he,  those  joyous  festivals,  those  annual 
seasons  of  rejoicing,  that  break  in  upon  the 
dull  monotony  of  human  life  and  give  variety 
to  existence ; — but  here,  the  long  hard  pull  for 
worldly  superiority  is  never  intermitted.  There 
is  nothing  but  labor,  culculation,  anxiety  ;  we 
hdve  not  time  to  be  happy. 

Education. 

Nothing  is  equally  important,  yet  nothing  so 
universally  neglected  as  education.  The  biisi- 
ness  of  enlightening  the  understandings,  and 
forming  the  minds  of  youth  is  accounted  a 
■ervile  and  low  occupation,  and  consequently 
fells  into  the  hands  of  those  who  are  utterly  in- 
capable of  fulfilling  the  t^sk. 

The  most  important  part  of  education  is  not 
to  communicate  knowledge,  but  to  form  the 
mind  and  giv  a  salutary  direction  to  those 
constitutional  impulses  or  innate  propensities 
which  are  discoverable  in  childhood  and  de- 
veloped in  youth.  If  these  be  neglected,  all  is 
neglected :  and  the  happiness  of  millions  is 
left  to  the  guidance  of  chance. 

But  the  fact  is  this  :  education  begins  much 
sooner  than  is  generally  supposed.  The  tern- 
per  is  formed  and  the  character  settled,  before 
the  child  is  committed  to  the  care  of  a  teacher ; 
and  the  only  thing  that  can  be  expected  from 
him  is  instruction  in  a  few  dry  elements  of 
science,  which  may  qualify  the  pupil  to  make 
his  way  in  the  world.  The  greater  share  of 
education  therefore,  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  pa. 
rents  :  and  they  are  miserably  quii lifted  for  the 
important  office.  They  permit  vicious  hi-.bits 
to  take  deep  root  in  the  infant  mind,  but  pro- 
mise  to  eradicate  them  when  the  child  shall 
become  sufficiently  intelligent  to  understand 
the  design  of  correction !  What  deplorable 
infatuation  !  Is  it  not  much  easier  t(j  prevent 
the  formation  of  evil  dispositions  than  to  de- 
itroy  them  after  they  are  formed  ?  Is  it  not 
much  easier  to  oppose  the  ingress  of  vice  than 
to  eject  it  after  it  has  entered  and  foitified  itself 
in  the  citadel?  Shall  the  husbandman  permit 
noxious  plants  and  weeds  of  every  desceiption 
to  spring  up  and  flourish  in  his  fields,  for  the 
purpose  of  destroying  them  when  the  roots 
have  sunk  deep  in  the  soil,  and  the  task  has 
become  impracticable  ?  Shall  he  make  ready 
to  cut  down  the  thistles  and  briers  after  they 
have  choked  the  good  seed,  and  the  hopes  of  the 
harvest  have  vanished  ? 

How  often  do  we  hear  a  father  or  mother 
observing, when  one  of  their  children  hiis  com- 
mitted a  fault,  "  Well,  well,  I  shall  let  you 
alone  now  ;  but  when  you  get  a  little  older,  if 
I  find  you  guilty  of  such  improprieties,  I  shall 
certainly  correct  you."  Silly  patent  I  When 
the  period  iirrivas  to  which  ycu  allude,  you 
will  find  your  powers  inadequate  to  effect  the 
reformation  intended.  You  will  find  the 
scheme   attended  with  so  much  vexation  and 


difficulty,  that  you  will  assuredly  neglect  it. 
By  this  weak  and  blind  indulgence  you  may 
spare  your  children  a  momentary  uneasiness, 
but  you  render  yourself  accountable,  to  the  au- 
thor ot  your  existence,  for  the  follies,the  crimes, 
and  the  sorrows  of  their  subsequent  lives. 

We  do  not  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  innate 
depravity.  Man  is  the  creature  of  education  : 
by  timely  and  judicious  management,the  mind 
might  be  inclined  to  the  practice  of  virtue,and 
the  necessity  of  correction  prevented  ;  but  if 
evil  propensities  appear,  let  tiiem  receive  im- 
mediate attention  :  every  moment  of  delay  will 
increase  the  difficulty  of  the  task,  and  lessen 
the  probability  of  its  accomplishment. 

Another  great  error  \n  education  is  the  prac 
lice  of  indulging  every  childish  whim  and 
gratifying  every  capricious  inclination. 

"Wliy,  what  would  the  savage  advise? 
Would  he  have  us  to  turn  tyrants,  and  deprive 
our  children  of  the  innocent  amusements  and 
recreations  of  youth  ?"  By  no  means,  madam  ; 
that  is  not  our  intention.  We  would  have  you 
encourage,  direct,  and  partake  of  their  amuse, 
ments :  you  cannot  be  mor<.  usefully  employed. 
You  will  thus  have  an  opportunity  to  cherish 
every  virtuous  emotion,  encourage  every  dawn- 
ing of  honorable  ambition,  and  suppress  the 
first  rising  of  inordinate  desires. 

"  But  the  dear  little  things  are  too  young  to 
encounter  opposition.  When  they  have  ac 
quired  a  little  knowledge  and  strength  of  mind, 
it  is  time  enough  to  make  them  acquainted 
with  the  necessity  of  submitting  to  restraint." 
But  how  are  they  to  acquire  strength  of  mind 
if  you  indulge  them  at  present  in  all  their  un. 
reasonable  caprices?  The  time  must  come 
when  you  will  find  it  impossible  to  gratify  all 
their  inclinations :  and  after  their  passions 
have  become  headstrong  and  their  tempers 
violent  by  injudicious  compliances,  they  will 
not  be  disposed  to  attend  to  your  admonitions 
or  submit  to  the  rigor  of  your  discipline.  How 
much  better  to  habituate  their  minds  to  the 
necessary  restraints,  and  prepare  them  for  the 
difficulties  and  misfortunes  of  life  ?  The  yoke 
sits  easy  on  the  neck  which  has  been  long  ac- 
customed to  bear  it. 

Nothing  is  more  desirable  than  strength  of 
mind.  VVe  have  many  evils  to  encounter  in 
oar  journey  through  life.  We  have  need  of 
perseverance  to  enable  us  to  surmount  difficul- 
ties, and  of  fortitude  to  bear  unaviodable  afflic- 
tions.  The  world  is  not  a  paradise  created  for 
our  use,  and  subjected  to  our  wishes :  those 
therefore,  wlio  study  the  happiness  of  their 
children,  should  let  them  feel  from  the  begin- 
ning the  necessity  of  commanding  their  pas- 
sions, .tnd  restraining  their  desires. 

But  :  Ithough  the  greatest  and  most  impor- 
tant purt  of  education  falls  to  the  management 
of  parents,  yet  much  might  sometimes  be  done 
by  judicious  teachers  in  giving  a  salutary  di- 
rection to  those  impulses  of  genius  and  open- 
ings  ofcharacter  which  are  discoverable  among 
boys  at  places  of  public  instruction.    For  al- 


THE  SAVAGE. 


67 


though  we  have  given  it  as  our  opinion,  that 
man  is  the  creature  of  education,  yet  we  be- 
lieve that  there  are  certain  constitutional  dispo. 
aitions  in  every  child  which  may  be  noted  by 
an  accurate  observer ;  and  these  ought  to  re- 
ceive the  earliest  attention  from  every  one  who 
is  entrusted  with  the  management  of  youth. 

Some  are  naturally  ardent,  enterprisinir, 
ambitious;  others  cold,  unaspiring,  phlegmutij. 
Some  are  sanguine,  fearless,  resolute ;  others 
timid,  backward,  and  prone  to  despond.  Some 
are  remarkable  for  their  ardent  thirst  for  ad- 
miration, and  fear  of  every  species  of  reproiich ; 
while  others  appear  alike  insensible  of  praise 
and  condemnation. 

But  all  these  things  are  unnoticed  by  (he 
mercenary  teacher ;  whose  only  study  is  what 
immediate  advantage  he  can  derive  from  his 
irksome  employment,  and  how  soon  he  may 
be  enabled  to  engage  in  some  business  more 
honorable  and  productive  of  more  considerable 
emoluments. 

Young  Ardent  was  a  boy  of  the  most  sliin- 
ing  abilities ;  but  he  was  ambitious  of  being 
distinguished  above  his  fellows  in  every  under- 
taking. Conscious  of  deserving  applause  for 
his  literary  performances,  he  was  indignant 
at  the  preference  given  toothers  every  way  his 
inferiors.  Disappointed  of  the  distinction  he 
merited  by  his  laudable  exertions,  he  deter- 
mined to  seek  for  another  species  of  pre-emi- 
nence. He  became  a  projector  of  misciiief,  a 
leader  of  riots,  and  was  continually  engaged  in 
some  conspiracy  against  the  good  order  of  the 
seminary.  Ardent  was  expelled.  He  engaged 
in  a  career  of  dissipation  and  extravagance. 
Supported  by  his  fortune  and  admired  (or  his 
talents,  he  shone  for  awhile  with  distinguished 
splendor  in  the  circles  of  fashion.  Ardent  was 
generous,  undesigning,  and  incapable  of  every 
species  of  dissimulation  ;  but  his  favored  asso- 
ciates were  artful  time-serving  parasites.  They 
fed  him  with  adulation  till  his  funds  were  ex- 
hausted ; — what  then  '!  Deserted  by  the  swarm 
of  admirers,  deprived  of  that  applause  which 
had  become  necessary  to  his  existence,  he  had 
time  to  reflect.  But  Ardent  would  not  reflect. 
He  liad  recourse  to  the  intoxicating  bowl. — 
Why  should  we  mention  the  sequel  ?  He  fell 
a  vidim  to  his  follies.  Not  a  tear  was  shed 
over  his  grave. 

Why  did  not  Ardent  enjoy  a  long  life  of 
happiness  and  honor?  Why  did  he  not  be- 
come an  ornament  to  his  friends  and  a  blessing 
to  his  country  ?  Was  there  no  one  culpable 
but  Ardent?  To  whom  shall  we  trace  the 
fault? — To  those  who  had  the  care  of  his  in- 
fancy.,: to  the  weakness  of  his  father  and  the 
foolish  indulgence  of  his  mother.  To  those 
who  had  the  management  of  his  education : 
who  refused  to  bestow  the  rewards  he  had 
merited  by  his  literary  exertions  ;  who  treated 
his  errors  with  rigorous  severity.  In  fine,  to 
all  those  who  neglected  to  give  the  proper  di- 
lection  to  bis  aspiring  disposition. 


Mother  Wit. 

By  this  homely  appellation  we  wish  to  de* 
signate  that  natural  superiority  of  intellect 
which  some  men  possess  over  others. 

It  is  the  gift  of  nature,  and  cannot  be  in- 
fused  by  education,  or  acquired  by  the  perse- 
vering  exertions  oi  industry.  It  is  often  dis- 
coverable in  men  the  most  uninformed  and 
illiterate ;  and  its  absence  may  be  perceived  in 
others  who  have  received  the  most  finished 
education,  and  whose  minds  are  stored  with 
the  greatest  varietv  of  scicntifical  information. 
It  IS  generally  teimedg'^od  na  ural  sense  ;  but 
is  altogether  diflTerent  from  that  quickness  of 
intellect  usually  denom'inatr-d  wit.  It  appears 
to  have  no  conii'  ction  with  cunning  and  dupli- 
city, but  is  ino>tly  accompanied  by  sincerity 
and  candor.  It  always  preserves  its  possessor 
from  making  a  ridiculous  display  of  his  literary 
acquirements,  and  never  fails  to  observe  the 
first  appearance  of  pedantry  in  others. 

There  are  whom  Heaven  has  blessed  with  store 

of  wit, 
Who  want  as  much  again  to  govern  it. 

VVhatever  may  be  meant  by  the  voit  men. 
tiwned  in  the  first  line  of  this  couplet,  the  iAing' 
said  to  be  wanting  is  the  subject  of  our  pre- 
sent remarks. 

Little  Vivid  is  remarkable  for  saying  good 
things  and  making  lively  observations.  He 
knows  a  hundred  curious  anecdotes,  and  tells 
a  most  excellent  story.  Yet  an  accurate  ob- 
server may  immediately  perceive  that  there  is 
somethinq:  wanting  in  Vivid.  His  good  things 
are  produced  at  unseasonable  times  ;  and  his 
spirited  observations  are  frequently  misapplied. 
His  anecdotes  are  sometimes  irrelative  to  the 
subject  of  discourse ;  and  he  indulges  in  the 
repetition  of  stories  which  are  as  well  known 
to  the  company  as  to  himself. 

Our  friend  Prolix  has  read  a  multitude  of 
books,  and  possesses  a  fund  of  interesting  in- 
formation. There  is  scarcely  any  subject  but 
he  is  capable  of  treating  with  ingenuity,  and 
illustrating  by  appropriate  passages  from  his- 
tory  both  ancient  and  modern.  But  there  is 
no  end  to  his  discussions.  The  auditors,  who 
attend  at  first  with  delight  to  his  masterly  dis- 
quisitions, at  length  become  weary,  and  ex- 
hibit indications  of  inattention  and  lassitude; 
but  Prolix  perceives  it  not  He  continues  his 
harangue  as  long  as  any  one  will  listen.  There 
IS  something  wanting  in  Prolix. 

Doctor  Worthy  was  a  learned  and  pious 
clergyman.  He  was  not  only  reverenced  for 
the  sanctity  of  his  character,  but  highly  re- 
spected  for  his  literary  acquirements.  He 
was  distinguished  by  his  propensity  for  mathe- 
matical studies  as  well  as  his  love  for  the  reli- 
gion of  Christ ;  and  never  appeared  so  happy 
as  when  engaged  in  theological  disputes,  or 
employed  in  the  solution  of  algebraical  pro- 
blems. Yet  we  have  known  a  contemptible 
and  ignorant  coxcomb,  who  had  nothing  hurt 
money  and  impudence  to  recommend  him,  t« 


THE  SAVAGE. 


set  this  worthy  maa  in  a  ridiculous  ligfht  before 
a  numerous  assembly.  This  animal  would 
put  on  a  grave  face,  and  accost  tiie  doctor  con- 
cerning justification  by  faith,  or  the  intrinsic 
merit  of  good  works,  appearing,  at  the  same 
time,  inclined  to  favor  certain  heretical  opin- 
ions. The  doctor  would  answer  with  a  warmth 
corresponding  to  the  importance  of  the  subject. 
Mr.  Flippant  would  start  objections,  which 
would  be  answered;  express  doubts,  which 
would  be  removed ;  desire  information  con- 
cerning interesting  particulars,vvhich  would  be 
granted. 

The  whole  company  perceived  the  inten- 
tions of  Mr.  Flippant  to  quiz  the  parson ;  every 
ODe  smiled  and  partook  of  the  sport.  The 
doctor  saw  it  not.  He  was  a  learned  man  ; 
but  there  was  something  wanting,  which  his 
theological  knowledge  and  mathematical  acute- 
ness  could  never  supply. 

O"  We  are  sorry  to  disoblige  our  corres- 
pendent  S;  but  we  are  under  the  necessity  of 
refusing  admission  to  his  verses. 

We  readily  agree  that  some  of  the  lines  are 
"  tolerable ;"  but  we  have  not  yet  forgotten  the 
assertion  of  Horace : 

Mediocribus  esse  poetis 


Non  homines,  non  dii,  non  conceasere  columnffi. 

The  versification  is  not  inharmonious;  but  if 
S  mean  to  become  a  votary  of  the  muses,  he 
must  be  more  particular  in  the  selection  of  his 
rhymes  ;  "  swain"  and  "  raan"  appear  to  have 
little  similarity  of  sound. 

Poets  of  an  inferior  rank  ought  to  pay  great 
attention  to  this  point ;  as  the  principal  merit 
of  their  verses  consists  in  smooth  numbers 
and  a  jingling  close. 

THE  SAVAGE— NO.  XIII. 

Manufactories. 

Nothing  hastens  more  rapidly  the  progress 
of  civilization  than  the  establishment  of  manu- 
factories. They  elevate,  exercise,  and  enlighten 
the  "  directing  mind,"  which  oversees  the 
whole  and  regulates  the  complicated  move- 
ments, but  sink  and  degrade  the  actual  manu- 
facturer into  a  necessary  piece  of  machinery. 

There  must  be  but  one  mind  in  a  manufac- 
tory. If  any  subaltern  operator  be  capable  of 
thought,  it  must  lie  dormant,  and  ere  long  be- 
come torpid  :  for  how  can  any  faculty  subsist 
in  vigor  which  is  never  called  into  motion,  or 
exercised  in  the  sphere  for  which  it  was  de- 
signed ?  The  same  operatidhs  are  performed 
sometimes  by  a  man,  and  sometimes  by  a 
wheel :  they  are  both  necessary  parts  of  the 
great  machine  set  in  motion  by  the  mind  of  the 
intelligent  regulator. 

Nature  has  given  man  the  capacity  of  per- 
ceiving, reflecting,  reasoning,  forming  a  judg- 
ment, and  acting  in  consequence  of  his  judg- 
ment when  formed ;  but,  if  he  be  not  master 
•f  his  own  actions,  there  is  no  necessity  for 


his  forming  a  judgment,  reasoning,  or  exercis- 
ing any  of  the  powers  of  his  mind  :  he  feels 
the  influence  of  the  soul  of  tfie  machinery 
which  impels  him  to  action,  in  the  same  man- 
ner that  the  wheel  feels  the  impulse  of  the 
water  or  the  force  of  the  steam. 

The  more  various  the  employments  of  any 
man,  the  more  necessity  he  finds  to  exercise 
his  mental  faculties,  and  the  greater  is  the 
probability  of  their  improvement;  but,  as 
manufactories  gradually  approach  to  perfection, 
the  operations  of  the  actual  laborer  become 
more  and  more  confined  to  a  point ;  and  in 
the  same  ratio,  the  man  must  sink  into  the 
machine. 

It  may  be  observed  also  that  this  pernicious 
influence  is  not  confined  to  the  mind  of  the 
laborer,  but  affects  also  the  body  :  one  position 
and  one  set  of  motions  must  be  unfavorable  to 
the  human  frame  ;  as  some  parts  receive  more 
than  their  due  proportion  of  exercise,  and 
others  are  not  exercised  at  all.  We  have  no 
intention  of  dilating  at  present  on  the  conse- 
quences of  large  manufacturing  establishments 
upon  the  health  of  the  laborers :  we  merely 
mention  this  circumstance,  as  it  appears  inti- 
mately connected  with  our  foregoing  observa- 
tions. 

Before  manufactories  can  be  established  to 
advantage,  civilization  must  have  made  con- 
siderable advancement :  there  must  be  a  dis- 
parity of  ranks  ;  there  must  be  luxury  and 
poverty,  masters  and  slaves.  Luxury  is  ne- 
cessary to  create  a  demand  for  the  articles 
manufactured ;  and  poverty  is  necessary  to 
qualify  laborers  for  the  employment.  But  when 
manufactories  are  once  fairly  established,  they 
will  support  themselves,  and  help  along  won- 
derfully with  the  good  work  of  civilization. 
When  men  are  so  much  depressed  by  poverty 
as  to  be  under  the  necessity  of  becoming  a  part 
of  this  complex  machinery,  their  destination  is 
settled  :  they  never  will  be  able  to  extricate 
themseles  from  their  degraded  situation.  They 
are  habituated  to  their  employment,  and  dis- 
qualified for  other  occupations ;  their  master 
becomes  rich  and  conspquently  powerful ;  his 
ascendancy  over  them  continually  increases  ; 
their  children  are  brought  up  to  the  same  oc- 
cupation ;  the  price  of  labor  is  gradually  di- 
minished ;  and  every  spark  of  independence  is 
extinguished  in  their  bosoms. 

In  any  of  those  trades  which  can  be  carried 
on  by  one  man,  the  journeyman  may  hope,that 
through  his  persevering  exertions,  the  time 
may  come  when  he  shall  be  able  to  set  up  for 
himself:  and  this  hope  acts  as  a  spur  to  his 
industry,  and  keeps  alive  the  vigor  and  inde- 
pendence of  his  mind;  but  in  a  great  manu- 
factory, the  laborer  is  only  qualified  to  be  what 
he  is — a  part  of  the  machinery :  he  is  incapa- 
ble of  managing  the  whole  ;  and  if  he  were,  ha 
can  never  hope  to  accumulate  the  sum  neces- 
sary for  a  stupendous  establishment. 

The  thing  most  to  be  lamented  is  the  dis- 
qualifying nature  of  these  employmente,whict» 


THE  SAVAGE. 


incapacitate  men  for  any  of  the  common  pur- 
suits of  life ;  and  if  any  unfortunate  casualty 
should  destroy  those  establishments  that  afford 
them  a  subsistence,  they  become  a  burthen  to 
the  community  and  a  terror  to  society  in  gene- 
ral. 

It  ought  to  be  the  great  care  of  a  republican 
government  (if  indeed  it  be  possible  for  a  re- 
publican government  to  subsist  for  any  length 
of  time  among  civilized  men)  to  preserve 
equality  among  its  citizens  ;  but  the  establish- 
ment of  manufactories  has  a  direct  tendency 
to  destroy  every  trace  of  equality  and  extend 
the  influence  of  one  opulent  man  over  hundreds 
of  those  who  are  poor.  Now,  if  the  men  sub- 
ject to  this  influence  be  deprived  of  the  right 
of  suffrage,  it  follows  thai  a  multitude  are  de- 
graded from  the  rank  of  citizens,  and  are  no 
longer  suffered  to  participate  in  the  government 
of  their  country.  Would  not  this  be  prepos- 
terous in  a  representative  democracy  ?  But  if 
they  be  not  deprived  of  the  right  of  suffrage, 
the  consequence  is  still  more  unfortunate. 
For  their  votes  are  the  votes  of  their  opulent 
employer :  and  the  government  becomes  an 
aristocracy  the  most  odious — the  aristocracy 
of  wealth. 

A.  despotic  prince  acts  wisely  when  he  ex- 
tends the  commerce  of  the  nation,  establishes 
manufactories,  and  encourages  every  institu- 
tion that  he  conceives  will  have  a  tendency  to 
produce  inequality  among  his  subjects  ;  be- 
cause his  throne  is  supported  by  the  attach- 
ment of  those  who  have  extended  their  power 
over  the  inferior  ranks  of  society,  and  conse- 
quently are  friendly  to  existing  establishments; 
but  a  government  designed  for  the  good  of  the 
community  in  general,  when  it  directs  its  in- 
tention exclusively  to  those  objects,  is  acting 
directly  contrary  to  the  end  of  its  institution. 
On  the  contrary  all  its  laws  and  regulations 
should  be  calculated,  as  much  as  possible,  to 
produce  and  preserve  equality  among  the  citi- 
zens, and  to  prevent  any  man  or  set  of  men 
from  acquiring  and  exercising  power  over 
others.  [To  be  continued. 

Punctuation:   from  Ciito. 

I  have  often  been  amused,  Piomingo,  at 
hearing  children  taught  to  mind  their  stops. 
"  This  is  a  comma  :  at  this  mark,  you  must 
stop  till  you  could  count  one.  This  is  a  semi- 
colon :  here  you  must  pause  till  you  could 
count  one,  two.  This  is  a  colon,  &c."  Now 
if  this  nonsense  were  confined  to  the  vulgar, 
and  to  the  select  academies  of  illiterate  peda- 
gogues, it  would  not  excite  so  much  surprise ; 
but  when  such  absurdities  are  gravely  laid 
doWm  by  the  compilers  of  dictionaries  and 
grammars,  it  becomes  worthy  of  attention. 

How  the  characters  used  in  punctuation 
came  to  be  denominated  stops  or  pauses,  I 
cannot  tell ;  but  certain  it  is,  the  practice  ought 
to  be  discontinued  by  every  one  who  makes 
any  pretensions  to  accuracy.  These  marks  or 
characters  have  no  other  use  than  to  enable  us 


to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  author,  and 
have  no  connection  with  pauses  in  speakinc  or 
in  reading.  No  good  reader  was  ever  reo^u- 
lated  in  his  tones  or  pauses  by  the  occurrence 
of  a  comma  or  semicolon  ;  he  merely  considers 
these  as  guides  to  the  author's  meaning :  and 
having  become  master  of  the  sense,  his  own 
judgment  enables  him  to  adjust  his  pauses  with- 
out any  regard  to  the  place  where  the  comma 
or  semicolon  occurred.  It  is  granted  that  the 
rending  pause  frequently  is  placed  where  the 
character  used  in  pointing  occurs  ;  but  as  this 
concurrence  is  by  no  means  necessary,  these 
characters  can  never  serve  as  marks  to  point 
out  the  place  of  pausing. 

Colloquial  and  reading  pauses  are  perfectly 
similar  ;  yet  we  have  no  commas,  simicolons, 
colons,  and  periods,  to  direct  us  where  to  make 
pauses  in  speaking  :  nor  are  they  necessary  ; 
as  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  we  understand 
what  we  say.  And  these  characters  would  be 
equally  unnecessary  in  reading,  were  we  not 
in  danger  of  mistaking  the  meaning  of  the 
author. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  tell  how  the  ancients 
were  able  to  read  without  any  distinguishing 
marks  of  this  kind  ;  it  is  probable  they  had 
rules  for  their  direction  of  which  we  are  totally 
ignorant :  but  it  may  be  observed  that  in  the 
Greek  and  Latin  languages,  the  corresponding 
terminations  of  the  several  parts  of  speech 
would,  for  the  most  part,  prevent  ambiguity 
and  indicate  the  meaning  of  the  writer.  Those, 
however,  who  construct  sentences  in  the 
modern  languages,  find  punctuation  absolutely 
necessary  to  point  out  those  relations  which 
subsist  between  qualities  and  substantives,  at- 
tributives and  verbs  :  and  this  necessity  arises 
from  the  multiplicity  and  irregularity  of  our 
terminations. 

Whoever  considers  this  subject  with  accu- 
racy  will  perceive  that  many  improvements 
may  yet  be  made  in  the  art  of  pointing ;  and 
that  it  is  impossible  it  should  be  brought  to 
perfection  with  the  characters  only,  which  arc 
at  present  in  use.  From  this  circumstance 
arise  that  confusion  and  uncertainty  in  all  the 
rules  that  are  laid  down  for  our  direction  in 
punctuation.  The  present  characters,  however, 
will  answer  every  common  purpose  tolerably 
well ;  but  the  art  of  using  them  can  only  be 
acquired  by  long  continued  practice,  and  is  not 
to  be  attamed  by  merely  consulting  the  rules 
that  are  laid  down  in  grammars  and  dictiona- 
ries. Hence  it  frequently  happens  that  men, 
who  can  speak  and  write  with  facilitv,  are 
nevertheless  tt^ally  ignorant  of  an  art  neces- 
sary to  be  known  by  every  one  who  has  occa- 
sion to  write  a  letter  to  his  friend. 

Every  gentleman,  who  presumes  to  write 
for  the  press,  should  certainly  be  capable  of 
pointing  his  productions  with  accuracy  and 
taste ;  yet  this  is  seldom  the  case.  They  say 
they  are  in  the  habit  o?  submitting  these  little 
things  to  the  printers.  The  writer  of  this 
article  knows  that  such  is  their  practice  :  and 


ro 


THE  SAVAGE. 


a  judicious  one  it  is;  for,  printers  in  general 
can  point  more  correctly  than  those  learned 
and  intrenious  writers  who  enlighten  the  world 
with  their  luminous  productions. 

But  are  authors  aware  of  the  importance  of 
this  little  thing  which  they  suhmit  to  the  dis- 
cretion of  the  printers  V — Before  a  man  can 
point  a  work  judiciously,  he  must  be  perfectly 
master  of  the  subject  and  enter  fully  into  the 
meaniris^  of  every  sentence.  Now,  who  can 
know  the  intention  of  the  writer,  but  the  writer 
himself?  How  can  a  printer  understand  an 
autlior's  manuscript  (scrawled  as  it  usually  is) 
without  the  assistance  of  those  helps  which 
punctuation  itseU  is  designed  to  atford  ?  If  a 
printed  book  be  enigmatical  when  incorrectly 
pointed,  how  is  a  manuscript  to  be  deciphered, 
and  its  meaning  extracted  by  a  printer  ?  And, 
finnlly,  is  it  reasonable  to  expect  that  a  printer 
should  be  able  to  understand  every  abstruse 
and  scientifical  subject  that  may  fall  into  his 
hands  ? 

I  will  conclude  my  remarks  with  mentioning 
an  incident  that  just  now  occurs  to  my  mem- 
ory :  Boswell  represents  Doctor  Johnson  as 
lauu-liiiig  heartily  at  a  noble  authorls  ignorance 
of  the  art  of  punctuution.  "Lord  Lyttelton 
Was  thirty  years  in  preparing  his  History;  and 
he  employed  a  m:in  to  point  it  for  him  :  as  if 
another  man  could  point  his  sense  better  than 
himself!" 

The  Walk. 

Many  men  expect  to  derive  amusement  from 
a  walk ;  but,  upon  trial,  find  themselves  unac- 
countably disappointed. 

If  they  walk  out  on  business,  they  have  an 
object  that  engages  their  attention  ;  and  when 
they  have  effected  their  purpose,  they  return 
home  satisfied  with  their  excursion  ;  but  if 
they  go  out  in  pursuit  of  entertainment,  novel 
appearances  and  unexpected  incidents  are  ne- 
cessary in  order  to  awaken  those  pleasurable 
emotions  which  tiiey  hope  to  experience.  Now, 
•when  w-e  purpose  to  take  a  walk  in  the  city  of 
Philadelphia,  what  novelty  can  be  expected  to 
•  occur  which  will  be  calculated  to  excite  these 
desirable  sensations  ?  We  know,  before  we 
set  out  from  the  place  of  our  residence,  that  we 
siiall  have  brick  houses  on  the  right  hand  and 
brick  houses  on  the  left ;  and  tliat  we  shall 
encounter  a  multitude  of  people  'black  brown 
and  fiir'  all  in  pursuit  of  their  various  avoca- 
tions :  what  entertainment  can  be  expected 
from  this  dull  regularity  and  insipid  uniformity 
of  appearances?  And  if  the  walk  itself  afford 
so  little  amusement,  how  cau^ve  hope  to  ren- 
tier a  history  of  that  walk  interesting  to  our 
readers  ? 

It  may  be  observed,  in  answer  to  the  fore- 
•going  questions,  that  there  is  one  advantage 
which  may  always  be  expected  from  walking, 
unless  lost  tlirough  the  indolence  of  the  walker: 
if  we  march  up  one  street  and  down  another 
until  we  be  completely  fatigued,  rest  will  be- 
come agreeable.     Hence  it  follows  that  a  posi- 


tive pleasure  has  resulted  from  the  walk,  al- 
though it  may  not  have  been  attended  with 
any  interesting  occurrences.  And  something 
of  this  Hiituru  may  also  happen  to  the  reader 
wlio  sliall  talic  the  trouble  to  peruse  the  fol- 
lowing fifoduction  :  if  he  read  with  the  fond 
expectation  of  amusement,  and  find  himself  at 
the  last  distippointed,  he  may  notwithstanding 
have  the  pleasuie  of  throwing  down  the  paper 
and  bestowing  a  few  curses  on  our  savage 
dullness  and  stupidity. 

As  we  turned  round  a  corner,  we  encoun- 
tered Frank  Fluent,  We  have  known  Frank 
several  years,and  are  not  ignorant  of  his  faults; 
but  there  is  something  so  amusing  in  his  ob- 
servations that  we  are  always  rather  pleased 
than  otherwise  when  we  partake  of  his  so- 
ciety. 

Frank,  Which  way  Piomingo  ?  Have  you 
ventured  from  your  wigwam  ?  I  congratulate 
you  on  your  civilized  appearance.  Were  it 
not  for  that  savage  wildness  in  your  counte- 
nance, (of  which  I  am  afraid  you  will  never 
divest  yourself)  you  mijjht  pass  for  a  christian. 
Do  you  know  that  I  heard  a  dispute  concern- 
ing you  the  other  day  ? 

I'iomingu.  Of  wiiat  nature  ? 

Frank.  Why  thus  it  happened:  I  was  stand, 
ing  with  some  gentlemen  at  the  southeast 
corner  of  Tiiird  and  Market  streets,  when 
Piomingo  marched  along  on  the  opposite  side. 
"  Who  is  that  wild  looking  man?"  said  one. 
"I  cannot  tell,"  said  a  second;  "is  he  not  a 
Malayan  ?"  "  No,"  said  a  third,  "  I  believe 
he's  an  Algerine."  "  An  Algerine  !"  cried  the 
first,  "  impossible  1  were  he  an  Algerine,  he 
would  wear  a  turban  and  mustaches.  This 
man  dresses  like  a  christian:  I  should  rather 
take  him  for  a  Spaniard  or  a  Portuguese." 
"Do  not  Spaniards  wear  mustaches  ?"  said  the 
third.  "  I  have  seen  that  fellow  frequently  in 
the  streets,"  said  a  fourth  ;  "  but  I  cannot  tell 
what  to  make  of  him ;  he  has  a  damned  out- 
landish appearance." 

Piomingo,  And  what  did  you  say,  Frank  ? 
you  could  not  possibly  have  been  silent  all  this 
while. 

Frank,  I  told  them  I  thought  you  were  a 

Piomingo,  Did  they  coincide  with  you  in 
opinion  ? 

Frank,  Yes :  they  thought  my  conjecture 
extremely  probable  ;  but,  some  of  them  said 
you  were  in  the  pay  of  Bonaparte  ;  others  con- 
tended that  you  must  be  an  emissary  of  Eng. 
land:  so  the  discourse  became  political;  and 
you  were  forgotten.  But,  my  dear  Piomingo, 
wh^t  is  the  use  of  walking  for  ever?  Let  us 
make  a  halt  at  some  of  these  watering  places^ 
and  refresh  ourselves. 

Piomingo.  How  shall  we  refresh  ourselves  ? 

Frank.  By  drinking,  smoking,  talking,  &c. 
Come  along.  Are  not  savages  naturally  fond 
of  spirituous  liquors  ? 

Piomingo.  No  sir:  savages  arc  not  naturally 
fond  of  spirituous  liquors.     They  drank  at  firat 


THE  SAVAGK.  71 

out  of  mere   complaisance   to  their  christian  or  to  write  one  sentence  grammatically  in  the 

visitants  ;  but  havings  onee  experienced  the  ex-  lan^uag^e  of  the  country, 

hilarating  effects  of  ardent  spirits,  many  of  Pioiningo.  You  however  acknowIed<re  that 

them  have  become  addicted  to  intemperance,  there  is  something  else,  beside  riches,  neces- 

They  are  under  great  obligation  to  their  civil-  sary  to  his  advancement. 

ized  neighbors  for  having  made  them  acquaint-  Frank.  Wealth  is  power  :  but  if  a  man  be 
cd  with  the  pleasures  of  intoxication.  How-  an  i.Iiot,  and  make  no  use  of  the  power  he 
ever,  I  have  no  objection  1o  follow  you  into  the  possesses,  he  then  becomes  an  instrument  in 
temple  of  Btcchus  and  worship  the  presiding  the  hands  of  some  one  who  is  more  enterpri- 
divinity,  soberly;  but  I  shall  endeavor  lo  sing  and  ambitious;  and  that  influence,  which 
avoid  becoming  an  enthusiastic  devotee  in  his  he  has  neglected  to  employ  for  his  own  ad- 
service,  vantage,  is  exerted  in  favor  of  another.     We 

This   house,  said    Frank   as  we   entered,  is  sometimes   see    an    indigent  man,    who     has 

frequented    by   idlers    of   every    description,  talents  for  intrigue,  rise  rapidly  from  his  ci- 

Here  you   may    be   entertained  with    philoso-  ginal  insignificance  to  the   most  conspicuous 

phical  disputes,  politic:il   discussions,  and  reli-  stations   in   the  community  ;  but  how  is  this 

gious  disquisitions.     No  subject  is  too   impor-  done?     He  begins  by  cringing  to  the  opulent 

tint  to   be  agitated   over  a  bowl ;  nor  is  any  and   is   advanced    through    their    instrumen- 

thing  too  trivial   to  occupy    attention.     See,  tality. 

here  is  a  company  this  moment  deeply  inter  Piomingo-  Such  a  man  is  no  demagogue:  I 

ested  in  the  politics  of  the  nation  :  let  us  sit  thouarht  it   had  been   necessary,  for  one   who 

down  on  the  opposite  side  and  watch  the  issue  would  become  eminent,  in  a  democratieal  state, 

of  the  contest.  to  caress  the  poor  and  conciliate  the  favor  of 

Piomingo.  I  am  careless  about  the  issue  of  the  multitude. 

the  contest — but  who  is  that  corpulent  man  at  Frank.  When  this  man  has  acquired  wealth, 

the  end  of  the  table,  with  the  red  face  and  or  the  appearance  of  wealth,  he  then  becomes 

enormous  belly?  a  demagogue:  he  then  has  power  to  influence 

Frank.  That  is  Mr,  Bluff,  a  wealthy  grazier  the  people  ;    whereas,  in  his  original  state  of 

and  a  justice  of  the  peace  for  the  county  of  indigence,  had  he  attempted  to   practise  any 

Philadelphia.  demagogical  arts,  he  would  have  made  himself 

Piomingo.  I  knew  he  was  wealthy,  by  the  ridiculous. 

confidence  which  appears  in  his  countenance  ;  Piomingo.  Is  it,  then,necessary  that  a  dema- 

but   how   does  he   administer  justice  7    is  he  gogue  should  be  rich  ? 

learned  in  the  laws  of  his  country  ?  Frank.  Certainly  :  a  poor  man  is  necessarily 

Frank.    I  will  answer  you  in  the  words  of  dependent  on  the  opulent.     Who  then  can  in- 

the  son  of  Sirach  :  "how  should  he  get  wisdom,  flucnce  his  decisions — the  man  who  possesses 

whose  talk  is  of  bullocks?"     He    knuws  no  power,  or  he  who  possesses  none  ? 

more  of  the  law  than   I  do  of  Sanserif.     Yet  Piomingo.  It  seems  to  follow  from  your  rea- 

he  is  not  more  ignorant  than  his  brother  ma-  soning  that  the  people,  notwithstanding  their 

gistrates  in  general.     There  is  not  one  in  a  poverty,  arc  possessed  of  the  power,  since  their 

hundred  of  them  who  is  capable  of  reading  a  support  is  solicited  by  the  rich, 

page  of  law,  even   if  they  thought  proper   to  Frank.  The  people  may  choose  their  leader, 

attempt  it.     Whenever  a  man   becomes  rich  but  have  no  power  to  pursue  any  plan  of  their 

and  acquires  a  little  influence  in  his  neighbor-  own.     Have  you  not  demonstrated  in  one  of 

hood,  he  is   immediately  created   a   justice  of  your  Savages,  that  the  indigent  man  is  always 

the  peace,  without  any  inquiry  being   made  a  slive;  though  he  has  sometimes  the  liberty 

as  to  his  education  or  abilities,  of  exchangi-ng  one  master  for  another? What 

Piomingo.    But  I   thought  that  respectable  the   devil   do  you  mean,   Piomingo?  do  you 

citizens  were  always  selected  to  fill  an  office  of  argue  in  favor  of  civilization  ? 

such  importance  to  the  community,  Piomingo.  I  do  not  argue:  I  merely  suggest 

Frank.  So  they  are,  I  assueyou,  Piomingo  :  those  obstacles  that  occur,  lest  hereafter  there 

respectable  that  is  wealthy  citizens  are  always  might  appear  to  be  some  broken  links  in  the 

appointed   to  this  oflace.     Yes,  yes,  they  are  chain  of  your  reasoning.     Do  you  not  allow 

"  all,  all,  respectable  men."  that  rich  men  are  sometimes  governed  by  those 

Piomingo,  You  do  not  certainly  make  those  that  are  not  in  the  possession  of  riches  ? 

two  words  synonymous  ?  Frank.  Yes,  in   the  same  manner  that   a 

Frank.  \Vith  us,  they  are  perfectly  synony-  weak  prince  is  governed  by  his  favorites. 

™*jP^i«^o.  If  wealth  make  a  man  a  justice  /'TT;  ^^  ""*  """l*  of  your  constitution, 

of  thi  peace,  will  it  not  also  advance  him  to  a  P'°;"^"  f^J.  P''"""'^  "°    ^"P^'^V^  ^r  *°7  ^° 

eeat  in  the  legislature  ?  represented  m  your  legislative  assorabhes  ? 

Frank.  Yes :    if  the  man  be  possessed  of  Frank.  There  are  verbal  provisions  to  that 

sufficient  cunning  to  make  the  most  of  the  effect  in  some  of  our  written  constitutions  ; 

means  in  his  possession,  he   may  become   a  yet  it  is  easy  to  prove  that  property,  not  per- 

eenator  without  being  able  to  read  the  consti-  sons,  is  represented  in  every  assembly  in  the 

tion  of  the  state  which  he  swears  to  support,  United  States. 


72 


THE  SAVAfllE. 


Quid  leges  sine  moribus 
Vaiite  proficiunt. 

Wealth,  in  the  present  state  of  society,  exer- 
cises a  sovereign  and  independent  influence 
and  laughs  at  the  laws  or  constitutions  that 
would  circumscribe  its  power.  It  may  possi- 
bly be  said  that,  let  a  man's  possessions  be  -over 
so  great,  he  has  but  one  vote  at  an  election. 
But  let  us  consider  the  subject  a  little  more 
attentiTely  :  suppose  an  opulent  man  can  in- 
fluence the  suS'rages  of  fifty  men  on  such  oc- 
caeions  is  not  that  the  same  thing  in  reality  as 
if  these  votes  were  given  by  himself  personally? 
Nothing  is  more  common  than  to  hear  politi- 
cians talk  of  a  man's  vote  and  influence  :  and 
the  influence,  in  general,  is  a  matter  of  much 
more  importance  than  the  vote.  Yet,  although 
the  ascendancy  of  wealth  is  openly  avowed,we 
are  told  that  the  voters  are  perfectly  indepen- 
dent ;  and  that  persons,  and  not  property,  are 
represented. 

Piomingo  What  appropriate  name  can  we 
give  to  your  government,  since  you  will  not 
allow  it  to  be  purely  republican  ? 

Frank.  It  is  a  representative  democracy  in 
appearance;  but  in  reality,  a  representative 
plutoeracy  or  government  of  wealth. 

Piomingo.  Really,  Frank,  you  are  a  perfect 
savage  !  I  am  amazed  that  any  one  who  has 
tasted  the  sweets  of  civilized  society  should 
make  use  of  such  arguments. 

Frank.  Really,  Piomingo,  you  are  mistaken 
if  you  suppose  that  I  have  any  intention  of 
exchanging  smiling  fields,  cheerful  vilages, 
and  populous  cities,  for  the  lonely  woods  and 
gloomy  caverns  of  the  wilderness.  I  had  much 
rather  have  my  ears  stunned  with  the  "  busy 
hum"  of  civilized  drunkards  in  a  crowded 
stinking  grogshop,  than  trust  my  life  to 

beasts  of  prey, 

Or  men  as  fierce  and  wild  as  they. 

Every  thing  wild  is  my  aversion  :  even  you, 
Piomingo,  though  you  were  caught  young, 
and  appear  to  be  as  tame  as  a  lamb,  become 
occasionally  an  object  of  horror.  When  I  ob- 
serve your  red  visage  and  high  cheek  bones  ; 
when  I  think  of  your  skulking  and  howling, 
your  powwows  and  war  dances,  and  the  num- 
ber of  scalps  you  have  taken  ;  I  shrink  with 
involuntary  terror,  and  draw  away  my  chair 
from  the  savage.  No,  indeed,  I  am  no  enemy 
to  civilization  ;  but  I  think  it  quite  necessary 
for  a  man  who  has  to  make  his  way  in  the 
world  to  be  able  to  form  a  just  estimate  of 
things.  And  I  assure  that  a  cunning  enter- 
prising fellow,  who  is  not  burthened  with 
much  principle  or  deluded  by  the  bubble  ho- 
nor, may  do  wonderfully  well :  by  suiting 
himself  to  the  times  and  taking  advantage  of 
circumstances,  he  may  wriggle  into  places  of 
importance.  Why  should  I  object  to  the 
power  that  is  attendant  on  wealth,  when  I 
have  a  prospect  of  becoming  wealthy  myself? 
Why  should  I  mourn  over  the  miseries  or  de- 
fsressdoa  of  the  poor,  since  I  am  resolutely  de- 


termincd  to  be  numbered  with  the  rich  t 
Then,  Piomingo,  when  I  shall  be  rieh,  (let  me 
anticipate  the  pleasures  I  shall  enjoy)  when  I 
shall  be  rich,  my  influence  shall  be  exerted, 
not  for  the  good  of  my  subjects,  but  for  my 
own  individual  emolument.  I  shall  be  repre- 
sented  in  the  legislature,  or  become  a  legisla- 
tor myself,  and  make  laws  for  the  security  of 
property. 

Piomingo.  Who  is  that  tall  pale  man  who 
rails  so  violently  against  jacobins  and  demo- 
crats ? 

Frank.  Why  sir,  I  have  the  honor  to  in- 
form you,  that  is  neighbor  Smoothly,  a  respec- 
table member  of  the  society  of  Friends. 

Piomingo.  I  have  frequently  heard  the  word 
reepectable  applied  to  members  of  that  society. 
Pray  inform  rae,  are  they  rich  ? 

Frank.  Yes. 

Piomingo.  But  there  must  of  cotirse  be  some 
poor  members  ;  are  not  they  also  respectable  ? 

Frank.  Certainly  not:  but  I  must  inform 
you  that  there  is  very  little  poverty  within 
pale  of  the  society.  They  are  humanely  at- 
tentive to  the  necessities  of  friends,  and  prevent 
each  other  from  falling  into  indigence  and 
distress.  It  is  also  said  that  a  poor  member 
must  be  very  careful  to  walk  in  the  fear  of  the 
Lord,  and  according  to  the  good  order  estab- 
lished among  friends,  or  they  will  disown 
him. 

Piomingo.  What  is  the  consequence  of  that? 

Frank.  The  ejected  member  becomes  "  as  a 
heathen  man  and  a  publican  :"  disowning  is  a 
soft  word  for  excommunication. 

Piomingo.  But  if  a  respectable  friend  should 
act  improperly,  will  they  not  also  disown  him? 

Frank.  Why — not  so  hastily.  They  will 
wink  at  his  irregularities  a  long  time,  unless 
he  should  be  guilty  of  some  glaring  indecorum 
which  will  reflect  disgrace  on  the  society  :  in 
that  case  they  reluctantly  proceed  to  deal  with, 
and  gently  admonish,  their  backsliding  bro- 
ther ;  and  if  he  prove  irreclaimable,  they  are 
finally  compelled  (when  every  hope  of  refor- 
mation has  vanished)  to  proceed  in  the  business 
of  disowning  the  respectable  friend. 

Piomingo.  Can  you  assign  any  reason  why 
this  people  are  so  opulent  ? 

Frank.  It  is  in  a  great  measure  owing  to 
their  regular  and  industrious  habits,  their 
avoidance  of  dissipated  pleasures,  and  their 
neglect  of  expensive  amusements.  They  carry 
an  experimental  prudence  into  all  the  concerns 
of  life,  and  are  seldom  led  away  by  any  of 
those  visionary  speculations  which  prove  so 
destructive  to  the  bold  and  enterprising.  Their 
religious  principles  forbid  them  to  engage  in 
political  commotions,  or  to  accept  of  important 
situations  in  the  government :  consequently 
their  minds  arc  never  distracted  by  the  calls  of 
ambition ;  nor  is  there  any  thing  to  divert  their 
attention  from  the  great  business  of  accumula 
ting  riches.  What  advantage  their  religion 
will  afford  them  in  the  world  which  is  to  come, 
1  cannot  tell ;  but  certain  it  is,  that,   in   the 


THE  SAVAGK. 


71 


present  state  of  existence,  it  has  conferred  on 
its  votaries  favors  important  and  substantial. 

Piomingo.  Their  simplicity  of  dress  proba- 
bij  contributes  to  lighten  their  expenses. 

Frank.  I  imagine  not.  Observe  neighbor 
Smoothly's  dress :  it  is  composed  of  the  richest 
materials;  and  though  there  appears  to  be 
nothing  superfluous  about  him,  yet  the  sum 
that  Nvas  expended  on  those  vestments  would 
have  bought  two  suits  for  Jack  Flash  or  Bobby 
Chitterling. 

Piomingo.  No  objection  can  be  made  to  the 
dress,  but  its  singularity.  However,  in  my 
opinion,  such  little  peculiarities  discover  a 
species  of  weakness  or  affectation. 

Frank.  I  hate  the  starched  plainness  of 
neighbor  Smoothly ;  but  I  think  the  gay 
quakers,  at  least  the  female  part  of  them,  have 
hit  upon  a  medium,  between  flaunting  finery 
and  puritanical  stiffness,  which  is  exiremely 
becoming :  I  never  see  them  returning  from 
their  meeting  but  I  think  of  the  simplex  mun- 
ditiis  of  Horace. 

Piomingo.  Females  are  pleasing,  be  their 
dress  what  it  may. 

Frank.  What,  in  brown  bonnets,  rusty 
gowns,  and  dove-colored  handkerchiefs  I 

Piomingo.  I  have  seen  some  old  gentlemen 
belonging  to  this  society  who,  though  dressed 
in  the  plainest  manner,  had  a  truly  reverend 
and  patriarchal  appearance ;  and  in  their  coun- 
tenances shone  such  engaging  mildness  and 
benigoity  that  they  commanded  my  love  and 
veneration  ;  but  there  is  nothing  of  this  kind 
in  Smoothly.  I  discover,  in  his  countenance, 
an  ostentatious  humility  and  spiritual  pride 
totally  at  variance  witii  that  meekness  of  spirit 
and  lowliness  of  mind,  which  conciliates  the 
affections  of  men,  and  is  said  to  be  pleasing  to 
the  deity.  But  why  should  he  be  opposed  to 
changes  and  revolutions  ?  did  not  his  sect  first 
originate  by  innovations  on  the  established 
regulations  of  the  country? 

Frank.  You  know  the  old  adage,  "  We 
change  with  the  times"  In  those  days,  the 
Friends  were  poor  oppressed  and  discon'ented; 
but  now  "  Jeshurun  waxeth  fat  and  kicketh." 
The  rich  are  always  averse  to  innovation. 
Were  George  Fox  to  rise  from  the  dead,  he 
would  not  own  more  than  one  out  of  a  hundred 
of  the  modern  friends  for  his  disciples;  nor  do 
I  believe  that  one  in  a  hundred  would  ac- 
knowledge him.  They  no  longer  travel  from 
pole  to  pole  to  propagate  their  opinions,  or  pro- 
claim from  the  housetops  the  glad  tidings  of 
salvation.  They  no  longer  strive  to  make 
converts  of  kings,  or  go  forth  as  apostles  to  re- 
generate  the  world.  Their  religious  fervor  has 
cooled  ;  their  contempt  of  danger  is  vanished  ; 
and  the  spirit  of  martyrdom  has  evaporated. 

Piomingo.  Smoothly  is  gone. 

Frank.  Justice  Bluff  made  so  much  noise 
that  the  friend  was  ashamed  to  be  seen  in  his 
company.  And  he  began  to  reflect  that  it  was 
unbecoming  in  Friend  Smoothly  to  be  seen  dis- 
puting in  a  tavern.     As  to  this   gentleman 


personally,  thors  is  a  cause  for  hl«  irritation, 
which  he  will  not  acknowledge :  a  deeply 
rooted  prejudioe  in  favor  of  things  that  have 
been  ;  and  a  warmer  attachment  to  the  land 
of  his  fathers  than  is  consistent  with  the  alle- 
giance he  owes  to  the  country  which  affords 
him  protection. 

Piomingo.  Are  you  a  democrat  7 

Frank.  Pray  to  him  "that  giveth  under- 
standing to  the  simple,"  Piomingo,  lest  you 
be  "  destroyed  for  lack  of  knowledge."  You 
resemble  the  enlightened  citizens  of  this  civil- 
ized country,  who  are  swayed  by  watchwords 
and  names  without  taking  the  trouble  to  in- 
quire into  the  nature  of  things.  It  has  at  last 
become  impossible  to  discourse  on  common 
occurrences  or  to  make  those  observations 
which  are  naturally  occasioned  by  circum- 
stances, without  causing  some  wiseacre  to  de- 
mand :  are  you  a  democrat?  are  you  a  fede- 
ralist ?  And  then  if  you  cannot  or  will  not 
say  Shibboleth,  death  is  too  good  for  the  Eph- 
raimite. 

Piomingo.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Frank :  I 
had  forgotten  you  were  a  plutocrat.  I  have  a 
few  more  questions  to  ask  concerning  the 
friends. — The  best  and  wisest  pliilosophers  of 
antiquity  were  remarkable  for  the  plainness 
and  simplicity  of  their  diet ;  is  it  so  with  the 
quakers? 

Frank.  I  think  not :  no  people  in  existence 
love  more  "  to  eat  of  the  fat  and  drink  of  the 
sweet,"  than  the  children  of  Penn.  They  are 
truly  learned  in  the  science  of  eating;  and 
make  up  by  the  sumptuousness  of  their  feasts 
for  the  absence  of  other  amusements.  Should 
Apicius  be  told  of  the  luxury  of  a  quaker  en- 
tertainment, he  would  repine,  "not  withqut 
cause,  at  the  malignity  of  his  fate. 

Piomingo.  What  is  the  reason  that  fewer 
schisms  happen  among  the  people  of  this  so- 
ciety than  aiHiong  those  of  other  denomina- 
tions ? 

Frank.  That  question  cannot  be  answered 
without  bestoAving  at  the  same  time  the  high- 
est praise  on  the  wisdom  of  the  society.  Their 
bond  of  union  consists  only  in  the  practice  of 
the  moral  duties  and  certain  external  obser- 
vances, which  are  calculated  to  distinguish 
them  from  the  world.  They  are  not  fettered 
down,  like  other  denominations,  by  iron  do9- 
trines  and  an  adamantine  creed,  which  they 
are  commanded  to  believe  under  peril  of 
damnation.  They  puzzle  not  their  heads  about 
the  decrees  of  God,  the  freedom  of  the  human 
will,  justification  by  faith,  and  other  knotty 
points  in  divinity,  which  engage  and  distract 
the  evangelical  disciples  of  Luther  and  Calvin. 
If  a  man  preach  a  good  moral  discourse,  a 
quaker  audience  are  satisfied  ;  whereas  a  pres- 
byterian  congregation  must  know  that  his 
principles  are  sound,  and  that  there  is  nothing 
rotten  in  fundajnentals,  before  they  will  con- 
sent to  be  edified  by  his  labors. 

Piomingo,  What  do  you  think  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  Friends,  in  relation  to  war  ? 


74 


THE  SAVAGE. 


Frank.  Howerer  agreeable  their  opinions, 
on  this  point,  may  be  to  the  doctrines  of  pri- 
mitive Christianity,  they  will  not  suit  the  pre- 
sent situation  of  the  world.  Could  our  harm- 
less sheep  graze  in  safety  surrounded  by  tigers 
and  wolves  ?  Could  the  little  flock  rise  up 
and  lie  down  in  peace,  while  the  bloodhounds 
of  war  are  ranging  the  fields  of  creation  ? 
There  never  wa8,nor  never  will  be,  a  nation  of 
quakers :  they  owe  their  very  existence  to  the 
protection  of  government.  They  will  not  fight 
themselves ;  but  they  have  no  objection  that 
the  arm  of  flesh  should  be  raised  in  their  de- 
fence. Yet  there  is  no  doubt  they  are  aware 
of  their  own  inconsistency  in  this  particular; 
as  no  people  are  more  ready  to  resent  personal 
insults,  or  to  defend  their  possessions  from  ag- 
gressions of  injustice  or  their  houses  from  the 
intrusion  of  robbers.  If  it  be  right  to  repel  a 
personal  or  family  injury,  it  may  certainly  be 
proved,  by  a  parity  of  reasoning,  that  it  is 
equally  right  to  oppose  those  injuries  which 
are  offered  to  the  community  in  general,  and 
to  defend  the  great  national  family  from  insult 
and  oppression.  If  we  be  justifiable  in  bolting 
our  doors  to  prevent  the  intrusion  of  thieves, 
we  are  likewise  justifiable  in  erecting  forts  for 
the  protection  of  our  harbors.  If  we  be  justi- 
fiable in  throwing  a  robber  headlong  from  a 
window,who  would  rob  our  house  and  murder 
our  family,  we  are  equally  justifiable  in  as- 
sisting to  repel  an  invasion  of  our  country. 

Piomingo.  The  Friends  would  probably  say, 
that  we  may  resist  if  we  do  not  endanger  the 
lives  of  our  opponents. 

Frank.  Is  not  the  life  of  the  robber  endan- 
gered, who  is  thrown  from  the  window  ?  may 
not  his  skull  be  fractured  by  the  fall  ?  No 
such  line  of  distinction  can  be  drawn.  We 
are  not  accountable  for  the  consequences  of  a 
justifiable  resistance  :  that  lies  at  the  door  of 
the  aggressor.  The  thing  is  too  plain  for  ar- 
gument. Nature  has  implanted  in  man  a  prin- 
ciple of  resentment,  which  directs  him  to  op- 
pose force  to  force,  and  retort  the  injuries  that 
may  be  inflicted  upon  him  :  and  this  principle 
is  necessary  for  self-preservation.  If  it  be 
morally  right  to  lift  my  hand  and  brush  away 
a  fly  that  has  settled  on  my  nose,  it  is  morally 
right  to  defend  myself,  ray  friend,  and  my 
country. 

Piomingo.  I  have  understood  that  they  are 
not  disposed  to  contribute  any  thing  towards 
the  support  of  an  army. 

Fraiik.  They  pretend  to  say  that  it  would 
be  equally  as  criminal  to  enable  others  to  fight 
as  to  fight  themselves ;  therefore  many  of  them 
will  rather  allow  their  property  to  be  seized 
and  sold  for  half  its  value  than  pay  those  taxes 
which  are  laid  for  the  support  of  military  ar- 
rangements. But  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
these  evils,  incurred  through  their  own  obsti- 
nacy, are  immediately  forgotten.  Behold,  are 
they  not  written  in  the  book  of  the  chronicles 
of  the  people  called  quakers,  exhibited  at  their 
yearly  meetings,  and  preserved  from  genera- 


tion to  generation  as  a  memorial  of  the  suffer- 
ings of  friends  '.  I  must  not,  however,  forget 
to  mention  that  many  of  the  more  intelligent 
quakers  have  recourse  to  certain  ingenious 
subterfijges  to  prevent  any  losses  of  magni- 
tude on  such  occasions. 

Piomingo.  Their  language  is  not  a  little 
curious  :  I  have  never  been  able  to  account  for 
the  origin  of  so  singular  a  dialect. 

Frank.  I  believe  I  can  give  you  the  true 
cause  of  its  origin  and  progress :  The  early 
quakers,  and  other  puritans,  affected  to  be 
conscientiously  scrupulous  of  addressing  a 
single  person  with  the  pronoun  plural  "  you :" 
It  was  a  species  of  lie  which  they  could  not 
reconcile  to  their  conscience  !  They  were  de- 
ter .Tiined  to  use,  even  in  the  common  occur, 
rences  of  life,  that  solemn  mode  of  expression 
which  had  been  adopted  in  addresses,  to  the 
deity  and  in  the  translation  of  the  bible  ;  but, 
alas  !  although  they  were  favored  with  the 
illuminations  of  the  Spirit,  they  were  too  igno- 
rant to  distinguish  the  nominative,  from  the 
oblique,  case  of  the  pronoun  :  "  thou"  and 
"  thee"  were  therefore  used  indiscriminately. 
But  it  came  to  pass  in  process  of  time,  that 
this  daring  intriguing  insinuating  "  thee"  not 
only  maintained  his  legitimate  rights,  but  am- 
bitiously usurped  the  dominions  of  his  brother. 
*'  Thou"  is  totally  discarded  :  and  a  man  would 
be  accused  of  affectation  and  pedantry,  even 
among  quakers,  who  would  attempt  to  restore 
the  disgraced  nominative  to  its  station  in  the 
language.  Almighty  custom  has  sanctioned 
the  production  of  ignorance ;  and  this  unpar- 
alleled corruption  has  become  the  language  of 
friends.  "  How  does  thee  do?  If  thee  's  cold, 
thee''d  better  sit  down  and  warm  thee-self;" 
which  is  just  as  absurd  as  to  say  "  Me  's  well, 
me  's  cold,  and  me  HI  sit  dtwn  and  warm  me- 
self." 

Piomingo.  If  language  serve  to  convey  our 
ideas,  it  answers  the  purpose  for  which  it  was 
designed. 

Frank.  Yes :  but  you  must  acknowledge, 
Piomingo,  that  language  has  been  thought  of 
sufficient  importance  to  engage  the  attention  of 
the  wisest  philosophers  ;  and  since  that  is  the 
case,  certainly  the  language,  spoken  by  a  large 
and  very  respectable  society,  merits  a  transient 
consideration. 

Piomingo.  We  will  however  dismiss  that 
subject  for  the  present.  Who  is  that  little  man 
whose  attention  is  distracted  between  smoking 
and  talking  ?  He  certainly  never  has  heard 
of  the  philosopher  who  did  but  one  thing  at  a 
time. 

Frank.  That  is  a  revolutionary  character. 

Piomingo.  Be  more  explicit  Frank,  and  in- 
form me  what  is  the  signification  of  this  revo- 
lutionary  character. 

Frank.  Why  sir,  the  gentleman  is  forty  or 
fifty  years  old ;  and  consequently  must  have 
been  alive  somewhere  during  our  revolutionary 
contest.  He  has  been,  he  informs  us,  in  every 
importa»t  engagement ;  and,  if  we  credit  hia 


THE  SAVAGE. 


75 


assertions,  we  must  admit  that  the  successful 
issue  of  the  war  was  principally  owing  to  his 
personal  exertions. 

Piomingo.  Can  we  believe  him  ? 

Frank.  That  depends  on  the  measure  of 
your  faith.  Many  years  have  passed  away 
since  the  close  of  the  war.  Time  has  involved 
the  events  of  those  days  in  obscurity  :  and  a 
man  may  boast,  without  danger  of  detection, 
of  exploits  which  were  never  performed. 
Thousands  who  fought  and  bled  in  the  war 
for  independence  are  long  since  numbered  with 
the  dead  ;  yet  never  were  revolutionary  char- 
acters, as  they  are  called,  more  numerous  than 
at  the  present  moment.  The  most  of  those 
who  suffered  the  hardships  of  war  and  fought 
the  battles  of  their  country  have  lived  in  penury 
and  distress,  and  died  neglected  and  unknown ; 
who  then  are  these,  who  extol  their  personal 
prowess  over  a  bowl,  and  exhibit  their  revolu- 
tionary scars  in  the  taverns  of  Philadelphia? 
The  heroes  of  independence  resemble  the  heads 
of  tkc  serpent  of  Lerna;  when  death  cuts  off 
one,  a  hundred  spring  up  in  his  place.  Ob- 
serve that  smiling  red-faced  self-conceited  ani- 
mal who  walks  across  the  floor  with  an  air  so 
important  and  imposing :  that  is  an  Irishman; 
and  an  ignorant  Irishman.  He  has  no  know, 
ledge  of  history ;  he  is  totally  unacquainted 
with  the  affairs  of  his  own  country  ;  and  yet, 
although  be  has  not  been  six  months  on  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic,  he  conceives  himself  fully 
able  to  discuss  our  political  concerns  and  settle 
the  affairs  of  the  nation.  There  is  no  office  in 
the  United  States  but  he  has  the  impudence  to 
demand;  and  his  demand,  when  he  thinks 
proper  to  make  it,  will  be  probably  successful. 
He  will  grow  rich  and  powerful,  and  fatten  on 
the  gifts  of  the  nation,  while  the  children  of 
revolutionary  heroes  pine  in  obscurity  and 
want.  It  was  to  provide  a  coimtry  for  such 
fellows  as  this,  that  my  father  shed  his  blood 
in  the  service  of  the  public,  and  reduced  him- 
self and  his  family  to  poverty.  Where  is  he 
now  ? 

Cold  is  the  sod  that  covers  his  head ; 
And  sound  is  the  sleep  of  his  tomb  ! 

his  name  is  forgotten ;  his  children  are  un- 
known ;  and  here  comes  an  ignorant  coxcomb 
to  gather  the  fruit  of  his  labor. ' 

Piomingo.  Would  you  prohibit  the  ingress 
of  foreigners  ? 

Frank,  No :  but  I  sheuld  like  a  little  mod- 
esty in  foreigners.  They  might  live  in  peace 
and  enjoy  the  products  of  their  industry ;  but 
I  see  no  necessity  for  their  becoming  legisla- 
tors, or  enjoying  the  emoluments  of  office, 
whil^there  are  thousands  of  natives  fully  as 
capable,  and  certainly  as  patriotic,  as  any  in- 
solent foreigner  whatever. 

Piomingo.  But  if  a  man  of  genius  fix  his 
residence  among  you,  why  should  his  adopted 
country  be  deprived  of  the  advantages  that  may 
be  derived  from  the  exercise  of  his  talents  in 
public  affairs  ? 


Frank.  There  is  indigenous  genius  enough, 
if  it  met  with  sufficient  encouragement ;  but 
as  long  as  European  impudence  bears  every 
thing  before  it,  American  genius  must  lie  in 
the  shade.  Is  it  not  preposterous  that  a  man 
just  broke  loose  from  the  land  of  slaves  should 
presume  to  regulate  the  affairs  of  a  people  who 
are  said  to  be  free  ? 

Piomingo.  Should  they  not  enjc^  the  pri- 
viliges  of  citizenship? 

Frank.  I  think  not.  Their  children  might 
become  citizens ;  but  why  should  me»  born 
and  educated  in  foreign  countries,  influenced 
by  extraneous  prejudices,  and  feeling  an  in- 
vincible attachment  to  the  place  of  their  birth, 
be  admitted  to  rank  with  native  citizens  who 
love  their  country  "  they  know  not  why  and 
care  not  wherefore  ?"  Love  of  country  is  a 
prejudice :  knowledge  may  destroy  but  cannot 
produce  it.  And  as  foreigners  never  can  feel 
the  operation  of  this  prejudice  in  favor  of  the 
adopted  country,  they  cannot  be  heartily  and 
v»4]olly  attached  to  its  interests.  The  fact  is, 
they  never  become  more  than  half  citizens. 
After  tliey  have  been  here  thirty  or  forty  years, 
you  may  hear  them  express  their  regard  for 
their  dear  native  land^  and  call  it,  with  affec- 
tionate tenderness, — home.  I  blame  not  this 
amiable  partiality.  I  should  dislike  the  man 
who  felt  it  not ;  but  I  contend  that  no  one  can 
become  wholly  attached  to  any  other  country 
but  that  which  gave  him  birtli.  Piomingo ! 
can  you  describe  the  place  of  your  nativity  ? 

Piomingo.  On  a  gentle  eminence,  near  a 
rapid  stream,  stood  a  wattled  hut,  overshadowed 
by  the  branches  of  a  venerable  oak.  On  the 
right  was  the  distant  prospect  of  an  Indian 
village ;  on  the  lett,  a  narrow  path  winding 
down  the  hill  to  the  banks  of  the  river.  Ma- 
jestic mountains  appeared  at  a  distance. 

Frank,  Piomingo !  do  you  never  repeat,with 
melancholy  pleasure. 

En  unquam  patrios  longo  post  tempore  fines. 
Pauperis  et  tuguri  congestum  cespite  culmen, 
Post  aliquot,  mea  regna  videns,  mirabor  aristas? 

Should  you  return  once  more  after  many  years' 
absence  and  visit  the  Indian  village,  the  swell- 
ing hill,  the  rapid  stream,  the  winding  path, 
the  little  hut,  and  the  venerable  oak,  would 
they  not  excite  a  thousand  ineffable  feelings  ? 
Can  you  feel  the  same  attachment  to  any  other 
spot  in  the  univere  ?  Is  not  that  your  country? 
Could  you  forget  the  scene  of  your  infant  joys, 
where  you  first  became  conscious  of  existence, 
where  you  spent  your  happiest  days,  where 
the  bones  of  your  fathers  are  buried.and  where 
your  brethren  dwell— ceuld  you  forget  all 
these,  and  attach  yourself,  exclusively  to  any 
other  country  and  people  ? 

Piomingo.  May  not  a  man  have  reason  to 
bate  his  people  and  the  land  of  his  fathers? 

Prank.  A  man  eannot  hate  his  people  and 
the  land  of  his  fathers :  it  is  impossible.  If  he 
can,  he  is  utterly  incapable  of  loving  any 
other. 


70 


THE  SAVAGE. 


Piomingo.  This  civilized  uproar  fatigues 
me.     I  must  be  going. 

Frank.  Stay  a  moment,  till  I  show  you 
another  foreigner.  We  have  them  of  all  de- 
scriptions. That  inanimate  being-  who  sits  by 
himself  viewing  every  thing  round  him  with 
sullen  contempt  is  an  Englishman.  He  has 
been  among  us  thesa  twenty  years,  but  in  all 
that  time  has  fouiid  nothing  on  which  he  could 
bestow  the  slightest  commendation.  There 
are  but  four  things  that  fall  within  the  range 
of  his  abilities  :  he  can  eat,  drink,  love  old 
England,  and  hate  every  other  thing  in  exis- 
tence. He  never  can  be  induced  to  taste  any 
species  of  food  which  is  unknown  in  England  : 
and  of  those  kinds  which  are  common  to  both 
countries,  that  which  is  produced  here  is,  he 
asserts,  infinitely  inferior  in  quality.  If  you 
show  him  the  choicest  productions  of  the  soil, 
he  will  sometimes  reluctantly  admit  they  mar/ 
do,  taking  care  at  the  same  time  to  add,  they 
are  much  better  in  England.  He  never  has 
been  so  fortunate,  since  he  crossed  the  Atlantic, 
as  to  meet  with  a  dinner  properly  prepared  : 
and  when  he  returns  to  the  land  of  shopkeepers, 
should  he  ever  return,  he  will  inform  his  coun- 
trymen that  the  people  of  Pennsylvania  are 
anthropophagi  and  blacks.  Although  he  car- 
ries the  marks  of  stupid  vulgarity  in  his  coun- 
tenance, he  affects  to  despise  the  Americans  as 
a  Bation  of  rebels,  convicts  and  savages. 

Piomingo.  Will  he  argue  on  political  sub 
jects  ? 

Frank-  Argue  !  he  argues  as  a  dog  would 
argue :  he  snarls  at  every  thing  round  him. 
He  abuses  our  legislative  assemblies  and  curses 
publicly  the  officers  of  government. 

Piomingo.  It  is  magnanimous  to  overlook 
these  things. 

Frank.  I  have  no  opinion  of  such  magna- 
nimity. Suppose  I  should  go  to  England  and 
call  the  virtuous  members  of  parliament  rob- 
bers  and  villains,  and  the  sapient  monar«h  a 
fool ;  what  would  be  the  consequence  ?  Why 
should  strangers  be  allowed  greater  privileges 
among  us,  than  the  citizens  of  the  United 
States  would  be  allowed  in  foreign  countries  ? 

Piomingo.     This  is  a  free  country. 

FranL  A  free  country  I  words  without  mean- 
ing !  And  because  it  is  a  free  country,  must 
we  allow  ourselves  to  be  abased  and  insulted 
by  every  insolent  foreigner  who  lands  on  our 
shores  ?  Suppose  yoil  had  a  family,  Piomingo, 
-and  I,  when  admitted  as  a  visiter,  should  in- 
■alt  your  wife,  and  curse  yourself,  the  lord  and 
naaster  of  the  little  monarchy;  suppose  I 
should  ridicule  your  private  arrangements,  and 
laugh  at  your  domestic  establishment ;  or  sup- 
pose,  I  should  finally  presume  to  take  in  my 
own  tands  the  rej.ulution  of  your  affairs; 
would  not  my  conduct  be  resented  ? 

Piomingo.  The  lawyers  tell  us,  you  know, 
that  a  man's  house  is  his  castle  :  I  should  cer- 
tainly eject  yoa  from  my  citadel. 

Frank.  And  may  not  Oar  tenitories  be  ac 
counted  the  great  domicil  or  castle  of  the  na. 


tion  ?  Shall  the  many-headed  monster  be 
bearded  in  his  den  ?  Shall  one  set  of  foreign- 
ers ridicule  our  laws  and  regulations,  and 
curse  with  impunity  ''  the  ruler  of  the  people ;" 
while  another,  out  of  pity  to  our  ignorance, 
would  push  us  from  our  scats  and  take  upon 
themselves  the  management  of  our  affairs  ? 
Upon  my  veracity,  I  know  not  which  most  to 
admire — the  Irishman's  intrusive  impudence, 
the  Englishman's  haughty  stupidity,  or  the 
weakness  and  servility  of  the  American. 

Piomingo.  Have  you  done  ? 

Frank.  No  :  there  is  another  foreigner  pre- 
sent, to  whom  I  wish  to  call  your  attention. 

Piomingo.  What  is  he  ?  a  Frenchman  ? 

Frank.  No,  not  a  Frenchman.  What  made 
you  put  the  French  in  my  head  ?  What 
could  I  say  of  a  people  that  stormed  and  blus- 
tered  about  liberty  and  equality  till  they  set 
the  world  in  an  uproar,  and  then  fell  prostrate 
at  the  feet  of  a  daring  usurper '!  I  have  no 
patience  with  the  French.  They  excited  our 
hopes,  and  plunged  us  in  despair.  They  have 
disappointed  the  philanthropist,  brought  dis- 
grace  on  the  cause  of  humanity,  and  established 
for  ages  the  government  of  kings. 

Piomingo.  How  old  are  you,  Frank? 

Frank.  Why  do  you  ask  that  question,  Pio- 
mingo ? 

Piomiogo.  Because  you  appear  to  me  to  be 
Cdrried  away  by  a  frantic  enthusiasm,  which  I 
should  not  expect  to  find  in  a  man  who  had 
arrived  at  3'ears  of  maturity  :  at  least,  in  a 
man  who  had  made  human  nature  his  study, 
and  observed  the  passions  and  motives  which 
govern  the  actions  of  men. 

Frank.  O,  I  have  gotten  out  of  my  swad- 
dling-clothes:  but  I  must  acknowledge  that  in 
the  early  period  of  tire  French  revolution,  I  felt 
my  full  share  of  the  general  enthusiasm,which 
pervaded  the  world,  and  seemed  for  a  season  to 
elevate  human  nature  above  every  mercenary 
consideration. 

Piomingo.  Did  you  expect  a  political  millen- 
nium ? 

Frank.  The  truth  is,  I  not  only  expected  a 
political,  but  a  religious,  millennium.  I  thought 
I  saw  in  passing  events  the  accomplishment 
of  prophecies.  I  expected  political  and  spiritual 
regeneration  to  go  hand  in  hand  until  all  men 
should  become  brothers,  and  justice  and  peace 
be  established  forever.  I  was  ready  to  exclaim 
with  Virgil. 

Ultima  Cumoei  venitjam  carminis  astas: 

Magnus  ab  integro  seclorum  nascitur  ordo: 

Jam  redit  et  virgo,  redeunt  Saturnia  regna  : 

Jam  nova  progenies  cceIo  demitlitur  alto. 

I  expected  '  the  sun  of  righteousness'  to  rise 
upon  the  earth ;  and  the  clouds  of  darkness 
superstition  and  prejudice  to  be  scattered  by 
"  the  brightness  of  his  coming."  I  expected 
that  through  the  blessings  of  freedom  and  the 
'  outpouring  of  the  Spirit,'  '^  the  wilderness 
would  be  like  Eden,  and  the  desert  like  tho 
garden  of  the  Lord  !"  I  prayed  without  ceas- 
ing  for  the  downfall  of  pagan,  idolatry,  popisk 


THE  SAVAGE. 


77 


superstition,  and  Jewish  infidelity.  I  read 
Newton,  on  tiie  prophecies,  studied  the  weeks 
and  times  of  Daniel ;  and  meditated  profoundly 
on  the  heads,  horns,  trumpets,  and  vials  of  the 
Revelation.  I  expected  every  moment  to  see 
the  heavens  opened,  and  the  New  Jerusalem 
descending  on  the  earth  ! — But  the  progress  of 
the  French  revolution  destroyed  these  gay  illu- 
sions. These  enchanting  hopes  have  "  passed 
away  as  a  vision  of  the  night;"  and  the  black- 
ness of  darkness  has  succeeded.  Instead  of  a 
new  heaven  and  a  new  earth,  I  have  nothing 
to  amuse  me  but  this  same  old  dull  wicked 
world. 

Piomingo.  I  was  going'  to  point  out  the  im- 
possibility of  this  great  change  taking  place 
in  consequence  of  the  French  revolution,  and 
to  demonstrate  the  folly  of  your  expectations ; 
but  as  I  find  that  you  supposed  these  wonders 
would  be  effected  by  supernatural  means,  my 
reasoning  would  not  be  so  applicable  to  the 
case  as  I  imagined.  You  were  certainly  right 
in  calling  in  a  heavenly  personage  to  act  a 
part  in  your  great  and  magnificent  drama  : 
nor  can  the  severest  critic  accuse  you  of  trans- 
gressing the  maxim  of  Horace : 

Nee  Deus  intersit,  nisi  dignus  vindice  nodus. 

Frank.  However  lightly  you  may  treat  this 
subject,  Piomingo,  to  me  it  has  been  a  most 
serious  affair.  Nothing  agitates  the  passions 
of  men  with  so  much  violence  as  religion  and 
politics  :  and  when  these  two,  at  tiie  same 
time,  exert  their  influence  upon  a  young  in- 
genuous and  enthusiiistic  mind,  the  con.«e- 
quences  are  marvellous.  And  wlien  the  minr], 
after  having  been  agitated  and  sublimated  by 
wild  undcfinahlc  emotions,  finds  itself  among 
the  mire  and  filth  of  this  sublunary  world — 
how  vapid  and  tasteless  is  existence  ! — But 
here  we  are :  since  nature  has  made  us 
but  men,\vhy  shoald  we  proudly  and  arrogantly 
aspire  to  be  gods?  Why  should  we,  who 
grovel  upon  the  earth,  raise  our  daring  thoughts 
to  heaven  and  soar  beyond  the  bounds  of  crea- 
tion ?  Is  it  not  strange  that  such  worms,  as 
we,  should  be  actuated  by  passions  so  strong, 
ambition  so  bold,  and  desires  so  unbounded  ? 


Coelum  ipsum  petimus  stultitia' 

Piomingo.  Man  is  a  reptile  indeed,  and  may 
truly  say,  with  one  of  your  sacicd  writers, 
"  to  corruption,  thou  art  my  father ;  and  to  the 
worm,  thou  art  my  mother  and  my  sister :" 
but  that  daring  ambition,  those  ardent  p.ssioiis, 
boundless  desires,  and  aspiring  hopes,  which 
excite  your  admiration,  may  lead  us  to  look 
for  another  scene  of  existence,  when  man  shall 
find  q|)jects  sufficiently  noble  to  exercise  the 
powers  of  his  soul,  and  satisfy  his  sublimest 
aspirations. 

Frank.  Such  reflections  may  calm  your 
philosophic  mind.  Piomingo  ;  but  one  who  has 
been  taught  to  expect  certainty  in  these  things 
views  your  probabilities  with  impatience.  How- 
ever, I  must  inform  joa  that  I  have  nearly 


got  rid  of  these  troubIe*eme  speculations, 
which,  if  indnlged,  would  unfit  a  man  for  the 
great  and  important  concerns  of  this  momen- 
tary life.  I  endeavor  to  suit  ^nyself  to  the 
station  in  which  nature  has  placed  me,  and  to 
teach  my  mind  to  be  satisfied  with  things  which 
are  attainable. 

Pio?ningo.  You  endeavor  ? 
Frank.  I  must  acknowledge  it  is  only  an 
endeavor  ;  for  I  continually  experience  vexa- 
tions in  business,  troubles  with  my  nearest 
connections,  disappointments  in  friendship; 
-and  become  more  and  more  convinced  of  the 
unsatisfactory  nature  of  every  enjoyment.  O, 
for  that  apathy  of  soul,  that  sweet  ataraxia,  of 
which  I  have  heard,  which  forbids  alike  the 
approaches  of  pleasure  and  pain,  hope  and 
despair ! 

Piomingo.  That  ataraxia  is  only  to  be 
gained — 

Frank.  In  the  grave:  "where  the  wicked 
cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at 
rest." 

Pimningo.  So  I  find  you  are  something  of  a 
sceptic  :  why  did  you  not  propose  your  doubts, 
in  the  beginning,  to  some  of  your  teachers,  in 
order  that  they  might  be  removed  ? 

Frank.  So  1  did  :  I  went  to  our  ghostly 
steward,  who  furnished  us  on  Sundays  with 
our  weekly  allowance  of  spiritual  food,  and 
modestly  propomided  certain  queries. 

He  was  astonished  beyond  measure  that 
such  a  one  as  I  should  presume  to  doubt  of 
any  of  those  things  which  he  himself  believed. 
He  diliited  on  the  heinous  nature  of  the  sin  of 
unbelief,  and  exhorted  me  to  beware  of  the 
temptations  of  Satan.  I  told  him  that  I  was 
sincerely  desirous  of  believing  ;  but  that  my 
mind  was  perplexed  with  doubts,  which  I  was 
in  hopes  his  superior  knowledge  would  be  able 
to  dissipate.  I  protested  that  I  was  devotedly 
attached  to  the  christian  religion  ;  that  I  would 
not  tor  ten  thousand  worlds  believe  it  to  be  a 
fiction  ;  and  that  I  came  with  genuine  humil- 
ity, and  in  the  simplicity  of  my  heart,  to  ask 
inform;ition  from  my  spiritual  instructor.  I 
entreated  that  he  would  favor  me  with  half  an 
hour's  conversation  ;  that  he  would  give  me 
reasons  on  which  to  ground  my  belief;  that 
he  would  hear  my  objections  patiently ;  in 
fine,  that  he  would  engage  in  a  friendly  and 
familiar  discussion  of  those  important  points 
which  I  had  mentioned. 

Piomingo.  Well:  what  reply  did  he  make 
to  this  liuiiiLle  solicit  itioij  ? 

Frank.  He  began  a  lou:;  .md  violent  decla- 
mation, something  in  the  manner  of  a  sermon  ; 
he  quoted  innumerable  texts  of  scripture 
taking  for  granted,  all  along,  the  very  points 
I  wished  to  have  proved  ;  he  poured  forth  the 
terrors  of  the  law  like  a  torrent ;  and  concluded 
with  an  animated  prayer  for  a  hardened  and 
unbelieving  sinner. 

Now  this  might  be  preaching ;  but  reason- 
ing it  could  not  be  termed,with  any  propriety  : 
and,  as  it  was  not  exactly  preaching  which  I 


78 


THE  SAVAGE. 


was  desirous  of  bearing,  I  ventured  to  suggest 
that  I  had  often  heard  tlicse  things  from  the 
pulpit ;  and  as  they  had  failed  to  produce  con- 
viction in  my  mind  on  those  occasions,  it  wa.s 
not  to  be  expected  that  they  would  have  a  more 
decisive  effect  at  present. 

"  Do,  my  dear  sir,"  said  I,  "  consider  me, 
for  the  present,  as  a  Chinese  or  Hindoo.  What 
arguments  would  you  use  to  convince  such  a 
one  of  the  truth  of  the  doctrines  you  teach  ?" 
"  It  is  the  hardness  and  wickedness  of  your 
abominable  heart,"  cried  he,  "  that  occasions 
your  unbelief:  I  see  you  are  lost"  "  My 
hcirt,"  said  I,  innocently,  "  is  not  wicked." 
"  You  lie  !"  said  he  in  a  fury,  "  you  lie,  you 
reprobate  !  your  heart  is  deceitful  above  all 
things,  and  desperately  iciclced. 

I  was  a  little  abashed,  as  you  may  well  sup- 
pose, with  this  last  argument ;  however,  after 
some  time,  when  I  saw  he  began  to  grow  cool, 
I  ventured  to  rejoin,  "  If  I  know  any  thing  of 
my  own  heart" — "  You  know  nothing  of  your 
own  heart,  poor  fool  I"  said  he,  "  you  are  in 
the  gall  of  bitterness  and  bond  of  iniquity." 

As  I  found  that  no  good  would  spring  from 
this  conference,  I  began  to  think  of  taking  my 
leave ;  but,  being  desirous  to  know  of  what 
nature  his  next  argument  would  be,  I  added, 
"When  we  wish  to  establish  any  doctrine" — 
"  Let  me  have  none  of  your  philosophy  and 
vain  deceit,"  said  he,  "  I'll  hear  none  of  it.  I 
deliver  you  over  to  Satan  to  buffet  you.  Your 
blood  be  on  your  own  head :  I  have  done  my 
duty.  You  will  soon  believe  and  tremble  like 
your  father  the  devil.  I  shake  off  the  dust  of 
my  feet  as  a  testimony  against  you.  I  tell 
you  again  and  again,  that  it  is  the  wicked 
malignity  and  enmity  of  your  heart,  against 
God  and  every  thing  that  is  good,  which  oc- 
casions your  unbelief;  you  will  not  believe." 
"  If  a  man  be  not  able,"  said  1,  "  to  see  the 
truth  of  a  proposition,  he  cannot  believe." 

Enraged  beyond  measure  at  my  pertinacity, 
he  sprang  from  his  chair,and, seizing  a  flaming 
brand  from  the  fire,  he  shook  it  in  my  face  ex- 
claiming, "  Believe  or  you  HI  be  damned,  you 
villain .'  believe  or  you  II  he  damned  .'" 

Piomingo  That  was  cogent  reasoning, 
Frank  :  did  you  reply  ? 

Frank.  No,  indeed  :  I  scampered  off  as  fast 
as  my  feet  could  carry  me.  I  was  then  about 
seventeen  years  of  age :  if  any  one  were  to 
reason  with  me  in  that  manner  at  present,  I 
should  certainly  make  use  of  a  species  of  ar- 
gument that  would  not  be  easily  answered. 

Piomingo.  Had  you  evgr  any  further  con- 
versation with  this  pattern  of  meekness  and 
humility  ? 

Frank.  No.  I  frequently  went  afterwards  to 
hear  him  preach :  and  whenever  he  saw  me 
enter  the  church,  he  took  occasion  to  denounce 
the  judgments  of  the  law  upon  a  presumptuous 
unbeliever.  I  do  candidly  believe  he  was  angry 
with  the  Lord  for  permitting  me  to  live  upon 
the  earth :  for  I  have  seen  him  turn  up  his 
eyes,  with  an  air  of  angry  expostulatioa,  and 


say  "  Why  sleeps  thy  thunder  ?"  He  would 
frequently  question  his  Maker  concerning  the 
propriety  of  showing  so  much  lenity  and  in- 
dulgence to  the  dissolute  and  profane. — You 
smile,  Piomingo — May  this  moment  be  my 
last,  if  he  would  not  address  the  creator  of  the 
world  with  as  much  ease  and  confidence  as  I 
do  my  barber  or  shoemaker  :  and  this  sancti- 
fied impertinence  or  blasphemous  impudence 
he  dignified  with  the  appellation  of  holy  bold- 
ness. He  would  threaten  the  Lord — Why  do 
you  stare,  Piomingo? — absolutely  threaten 
him,  and  tell  him,  in  a  tone  of  defiance,  that 
he  (the  preacher)  would  take  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  by  storm.  Nay,  he  would  command 
the  deity — I  speak  truth,  Piomingo — as  I 
command  my  servant ;  for  which  he  said  he 
had  scripture — "  Command  ye  me." 

Piomingo.  This  was  a  true  member  of  the 
church  militant.  Such  clergymen,  I  hope,  are 
rarely  to  be  found. 

Frank.  There  are  many  such,  among  the 
calvinistic  societies.  He  was  a  celebrated 
preacher,  remarkably  orthodox  and  sound  in 
fundamentals. 

Piomingo.  But  how  did  it  happen  that  you 
connected  religion  and  politics  in  the  manner 
you  have  mentioned  ? 

Frank.  Why,  it  has  long  been  a  prevailing 
opinion,  among  various  religious  denomina- 
tions, that  those  happy  times,  which  are  pro- 
mised by  the  prophets,  would  commence  about 
the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  :  and 
we,  who  found  ourselves  within  a  few  years 
of  that  important  period,  confidently  expected 
to  see  at  least  the  morning  of  that  day  when 
holiness  to  the  Lord  should  be  written  on  the 
btlls  of  the  horses. 

Whenever,  by  pouring  out  the  curses  of  the 
law  mixed  with  a  due  proportion  of  the  sooth- 
ing promises  of  the  gospel,  any  sacred  orator 
was  able  to  excite  a  little  sobbing  and  whining 
and  blubbering  among  his  auditors,  which  was 
termed  "  a  shaking  among  the  dry  bones,"  he 
would  immediately  declare  that  the  night  wae 
past,  and  that  he  saw  the  appearance  of  day. — 
While  we  all  stood  on  tiptoe  in  order  to  per- 
ceive the  first  streaks  of  the  dawn,  behold ! 
we  discerned  the  coruscations  of  the  French 
revolution  ! — A  shout  of  joy  and  exultation 
was  raised  by  the  multitude, 

So  wild,  so  loud,  so  clear, 

E'en  listening  angels  stooped  from  heaven  to  hear! 

The  wondering  mountains,  hills,  and  rocks 
returned  the  sound ;  the  beasts  of  the  field 
forgot  to  browse,  and  gazed  with  astonishment 
at  th«  madness  of  the  people ;  the  dogs,  ia 
every  direction,  lifted  up  their  voices  and 
joined  in  the  melodious  howl  of  their  mas- 
ters! 

One  company  would  sing,  "The  day  breaks, 
and  the  shadows  flee  away."  A  second  would 
answer,  "  Lo  I  the  winter  is  past ;  the  rain  ia 
over  and  gone."  A  third :  "  The  flowers  ap- 
pear on  the  earth ;  the  time  of  the  singing  of 


THE  SAVAGE. 


79 


birds  is  come."  A  fourth  :  "  The  voice  of  the 
turtle  is  heard  in  our  land."  Then  all  would 
unite  in  full  chorus :  "  Glory  lo  God  in  the 
highest ;  and  peace  and  good  will  among 
men." 

While  we  were  thus  emploj'ed,  we  were 
astonished  at  a  bloody  appearance  in  the  east- 
ern horizon.  What  could  occasion  this  singular 
phenomenon  !  The  incident  was  unexpected, 
and  threw  a  damp  on  our  joy.  Wc  immedi- 
ately had  recourse  to  our  prophetic  books,  and 
without  much  difficulty  discovered  sundry 
oracular  intimations  of  this  wonderful  event. 
For  after  an  event  had  actually  taken  place, 
we  were  extremely  ingenious  at  adjusting  the 
prephecy  to  the  circumstances ;  but  when  we 
attempted,  with  no  other  guide  but  prophecy, 
to  predict  occurrences,  we  sometimes  made 
little  blunders  in  our  calculations. — But  alas  ! 
we  were  plunged  into  utter  despair  when  we 
perceived  gloomy  clouds  of  infidelity,  atheism 
and  oppression  to  rise  from  the  earth  and  de- 
stroy those  faint  glimmerings  of  light  which 
had  ravished  our  senses.  "  Behold,  darkness 
covereth  the  earth ;  and  gross  darkness,  the 
people !" 

This  dreadful  disappointment  I  owe  to  the 
French ;  help  me  to  curse  them. 

Piomingo.  The  French  are  a  gallant  peo- 
ple ? 

Frank.  They  are  a  valiant  people. 

Piomingo.  Are  they  not  a  good  people  ? 

Frank.  They  make  good  slaves,  but  execra- 
ble masters :  1  would  as  soon  trust  a  madman 
with  a  firebrand  in  a  powder  magazine,  as 
Frenchmen  with  the  management  of  govern- 
ment. 

Piomingo.  I  am  sorry  for  your  religious  and 
political  disappointment,  Frank  ;  but  I  do  not 
account  myself  qualified  to  offer  consolation. 
May  I  ask,  in  my  turn,  if  you  have  not  treated 
sacred  subjects  with  rather  too  much  levity. 

Frank.  I  have  not :  religion  herself  I  vene- 
rate. But  if  a  villain  or  a  fool  wrap  his  unhal- 
lowed limbs  in  the  white  robes  of  the  goddess, 
shall  his  wickedness  and  folly  be  unnoticed  ? 
I  trow  not. 

Professors  of  religion  are  often  ingenious  at 
making  distinctions  where  no  diiferencc  really 
exists :  I  wish  they  would  learn  to  separate 
those  things  which  are  not  very  intimately 
connected — their  professions  from  their  ac 
tions  ;  themselves  from  their  Maker. 

Piomingo.  Were  popular  commotions  again 
to  take  place  in  France,  in  England,  or  in  any 
other  country  of  Europe,  would  you  entertain 
any  such  extravagant  expectations  as  you  did 
at  the  commencement  of  the  French  revolu- 
tion \ 

Frank.  Indeed  I  should  not.  I  understand 
a  little  better,  than  I  did  in  my  youth,  the  na- 
ture of  the  motives  that  influence  the  actions 
of  men.  I  have  paid  some  attention  to  the 
passions  and  prejudices  and  follies  of  my  spe- 
cies. I  have  studied,  as  much  as  my  situation 
in  life  would  allow,  the  progress  of  society  from 


barbarism  to  refinement ;  and  I  have  been  led 
to  conclude  that  m  every  country  where  wealth 
is  the  principal  object  of  pursuit,  the  great 
body  of  the  people  must  always  be  slaves, 

Piomingo.  Why  then  should  the  termination 
of  the  French  revolution  be  mentioned  by  you 
in  terms  of  regret,  since  the  people  would 
have  been  equally  slaves  under  a  national  as- 
sembly ? 

Frank.  Because,  in  a  monarchical  govern- 
ment there  is  but  one  freeman,  or,  as  an  an- 
cient Roman  would  probably  have  said,  there 
is  but  ONE  man;  but  in  a  government  where 
the  power  is  divided  among  many,  there  are 
many  who  deserve  the  appellation  of  men. — 
Because  the  minds  of  men  are  paralyzed  by 
the  iron  rod  of  power  in  the  hand  of  a  tyrant 
and  sink  into  torpid  stupidity  ;  but  in  a  popular 
government,  the  mind  of  every  man,  who  en- 
joys a  portion  of  the  sovereignty,  is  incited  to 
action  by  emulation,  ambition,  and  hope;  and 
the  energies  of  his  soul  are  suflfered  to  ex- 
pand. 

In  order  to  elucidate  this  subject,  I  will  pro- 
duce an  example  in  point :  The  government  of 
republican  Rome  was  extremely  unsettled  and 
fluctuating  ;  there  was  no  end  to  the  changes 
of  its  officers,  regulations,  and  institutions ;  it 
vibrated  contiually  between  the  hands  of  the 
patrician  and  plebeian,  opponents ;  yet  from 
this  chaos  of  contention  there  arose — heroes, 
sages,  gods  upon  earth  !  Now  if  we  contem- 
plate  this  same  people  under  the  dominion  of 
a  monarch,  we  see  nothing  but  a  brutal  tyrant 
and  degenerate  slaves.  Who  would  not  rather 
buflfet  the  waves  in  the  tempestuous  ocean  of 
liberty,  than  rot  in  the  putrid  waters  of  the 
dead  sea  of  despotism  ? 

Piomingo.  I  acknowledge  the  force  of  your 
remarks,  and  willingly  subscribe  to  your 
opinion  on  this  subject ;  but  I  cannot  help  ob- 
serving  that  the  degeneracy  of  the  Romans 
was  not  occasioned  by  the  imperial  govern- 
ment ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  the  imperial  go- 
vernment owed  its  existence  to  the  degeneracy 
you  have  mentioned.  As  long  as  the  Romans 
preserved  their  national  manners,  their  virtu- 
ous  poverty,  their  profound  veneration  for  oaths 
—in  fine,  as  long  as  virtue  honor  fame  patriot- 
isni  were  the  motives  that  impelled  them  to 
action  ;  so  long  did  the  republican  government 
subsist :  but  as  soon  as  they  had  shaken  off 
the  yoke  of  salutary  prejudices,  and  lost  their 
original  simplicity  of  manners ;  as  soon  as 
riches  became  the  great  object  of  ambition, 
and  the  wealth  of  Asia  was  poured  into  the 
lap  of  Europe — as  soon  as  these  things  had 
taken  place,  the  Romans  became  necessarily 
slaves.  When  one  Caesar  was  destroyed,  they 
feel  under  the  dominion  of  another,  and  con- 
tinued to  sink  lower  and  lower  in  the  mire  of 
moral  turpitude  and  corruption,  till  they  were 
overwhelmed  by  the  proud  energy  of  restless 
barbarians.  My  dear  friend,  when  we  con- 
sider the  poisonous  eflfects  of  avarice,  and  the 
enervating  influence  of  luxury,  upon  the  man- 


80 


THE  SAVAGE. 


ncrs  of  men,  we  must  despair,  I  awi  afraid,  of 
seeing  a  permanent  republican  government  in 
any  civilized  nation. — 

Frank.  Unless  heaven  should  send  down 
some  mighty  Lycurgus,  with  the  will  and  the 
power  to  raise  and  educate  a  nation  of  republi- 
cans.— 

Piomingo.  And  your  heaven-sent  Lynurgus 
must  take  away  the  children,  as  soon  as  they 
are  born,  from  their  degenerate  parents,  and 
educate  them  in  the  wilderness  far  from  the 
haunts  of  civilized  men. 

Frank.  What!  make  savages  of  them  ? 
Piominso.  No:  make  Spartans  of  them. 
Frank.  O,  that  is  the  same  thing  :  the  Spar- 
tans were  ignorant  and  cruel  barbarians. 

Piomingo.  Our  modern  Lycurgus  must  in- 
stil into  the  minds  of  his  young  republicans, 
not  the  vices,  but,  the  virtues  of  the  ancient 
Spartans.  He  must  teach  fhem  to  love  their 
frif-nds  nd  their  country,  to  suffer  with  pa- 
tieno;  t'u^  evils  of  life,  -tud  laugii  at  the  up 
proaclus  (it  d  .njrer  and  death.  Let  him  im 
prove  upon  the  pl^^n  of  the  Spartan  law-giver 
by  forming  an  enlightened  and  civilized  nation; 
but  he  must  take  care  to  prohibit  the  introduc- 
tion of  personal  property.  There  must  be  no 
appropriation  of  things  to  individuals  or  socie- 
ties :  all  must  belonij  to  the  nation.  Men 
must  be  taught  to  distinguish  themselves  by 
something  more  generous  and  noble  than  the 
accumulation  of  riches  :  they  must  place  their 
happiness  in  fri'^ndsliip,  love,  honor,  glory,  and 
the  good  of  their  country;  and  not  in  the  in- 
dulgence of  selfish  and  sordid  propensities. 

But  enough  of  this.  I  have  no  intention  to 
turn  Utopian  projector,  unless  I  had  power  to 
carry  my  plans  into  execution. 

Frank.  Suppose  you  and  I  steal  four  or  five 
himdrcd  ragged  <iirty  little  savages  from  the 
suburbs  of  Philadelphia,  and  establish  a  repub- 
lic in  the  wilderness.  The  parents  will  get 
rid  of  a  troublesome  burthen  ;  and  we,  trans- 
porting idea  I  shall  immortalize  our  names. 
Piomingo  and  Fluent  will  rank  in  after  ages 
with  Moses,  Lvcurgus  and  Numa. 

Piomingo.  Did  I  not  tell  you,  Frank,  that 
the  children  must  be  taken  as  soon  as  they 
are  born :  before  they  are  twelve  months  old 
they  have  imbibed  half  the  follies  of  their 
parents  and  contracted  a  thousand  civilized 
vices. 

Frank.  Nay,  then  we  may  give  up  the 
scheme  ;  for  how  should  we  manage  five  hun- 
dred infants  squalling  like  devils ;  unless  in- 
deed, we  could  have  them  suckled  by  goats  in 
a  cave,  or  by  wolves  in  the  mountains  ? 

Piomingo.  Frank,  if  you  will  not  walk,  I 
must  absolutely  leave  you.  I  came  out  with 
the  intention  of  walking  :  instead  of  which  I 
teen  taking  a  lesson  from  you  in  this  Academy 
of  Vice. 

Frank.  I  shall  accompany  you  immediately. 
I  wish  y«u  had  on  your  Muscogulgee  apparel, 
that  we  might  astonish  the  natives  by  the  sin- 
gularity of  our  appearance. 


Piomingo.  Come,  let  us  go. 

I  am  amazed,  said  Frank  as  we  came  out  of 
the  house,how  you  came  to  take  such  a  dislike  to 
a  tavern,  which  is  of  infinite  importance  in  a 
civilized  city.  Without  these  amusements, 
which  you  affect  to  despise,  how  would  the 
idlers  while  away  the  tedious  hours  of  insipid 
existence  ?  How  could  politicians  meet  to  dis- 
cuss the  affairs  of  the  nation  without  the  con- 
veniences a  tavern  affords  ?  Animated  by  the 
deity  who  presides  in  these  temples  the  patriot 
is  enabled  to  discover  his  flame  ;  the  wise,  to 
communicate  instruction  to  the  simple;  and 
the  brave,  to  fight  the  battles  of  his  country. 
Pray,did  you  never  hear  that  that  inan  of  mind, 
the  celebrated  Johnson,  declared  a  tavern  to  be 
the  throne  of  earthly  felicity? 

Piomingo.  The  Mitre  tavern  nnd  Turk^s 
head,  I  suppose,  offered  allurements  superior 
to  those  of  the  place  we  have  left :  yet  if 
a  tavern  be  the  greatest  blessing  of  that  civil- 
ized society,  the  moralist  so  much  admired,  we 
cannot  be  otherwise  than  amazed  at  the  power 
of  habit  over  tlie  minds  of  the  wisest  of  men. 
It  is  not,  however,  strange  that  a  man,  who 
has  no  endearing  domestic  connections,  should 
be  pleased  with  the  ease  and  freedom  enjoyed 
at  an  inn,  and  the  spirit  of  accommodation 
displayed  at  a  house  of  public  entertainment: 
Such  a  man  (although  there  be  many  who  call 
tiicniselves  his  friends)  will  find  himself,  as  he 
advances  in  life,  a  kind  of  stranger  on  the 
earth,  and  will  feel  inclined  to  exclaim,  with 
the  amiable  Shenstone. 

Whoe'er  has  irayell'd  life's  dull  round, 
Where'er  his  stages  may  have  been, 

May  sigh  to  think  he  still  has  found 
The  warmest  welcome  ut  an  inn. 

Frank.  A  savage  life  was  the  object  of 
Johnson's  unconquerable  aversion. 

Piomin-^o.  Johnson  was  a  lion  in  chains; 
his  strong  mind  was  fettered  by  invincible  pre- 
judices. If  a  favorite  subject  lay  immediately 
before  him,  he  would  investigate  it  with  vigor 
and  accuracy,  and  lay  open  its  various  and 
minute  ramifications;  but  he  could  not,  or 
would  no^,  take  an  extensive  view  of  the  nature 
of  things.  His  education  had  given  his  mind 
a  determinate  direction  :  and  he  was  afraid  to 
look  to  the  right  lest  he  should  see  Gog,  or  to 
the  left  lest  he  should  see  Magog.  He  took 
but  one  view  of  an  object:  if  the  first  appear- 
ance left  a  disagreeable  impression  on  his  mind, 
he  immediately  pronounced  an  unfavorable 
opinion;  and  never  could  be  induced  to  take  a 
side  view  of  the  same  object,  lest  he  should 
be  under  the  necessity  of  changing  his 
sentiments.  If  any  doctrine  ran  contrary  to 
his  prejudices,  it  was  never  favored  with  a 
critical  examination,  but  was  rejected  with  the 
same  terror  and  abhorrence  that  a  man  would 
oppose  the  approaches  of  a  rattlesnake  which 
evinced  an  inclination  to  crawl  into  his  bosom. 
If  any  one  advanced,  in  his  presence,  a  hete- 
redox  sentiment,  the  presumptuous  offender 


THE  SAVAGE.  SI 

>*as  speedily  silenced  by  coarse  language  in  a  every  weakness  and   folly,  and  exposed  the 

thundering  voice,  and   by  bold    sallies  of  wit,  whole  to  the  eyes  of  the  world,  without  any 

which,  enforced  by  the  terrors  of  his  name,  regard  to  the  character  of  his  friend ; — and 

there  were  none  who  would   venture    to  with-  thougli  we  are   amused  with   the   fruit  of  his 

stand.     Such   a  man   was  certainly  liable   to  labor,  we  hato  and   despise   the  creature  who 

mistakes  :  and  if  he  fell  into  error,  in  error  he  contributes  to  our  entertainment, 

would  remain  ;  for  his  sentence,  once  passed,  Piomingo.  Should  not  a  faithful  biographer 

was  like  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and   Persians  relate  every  thing  he   knows   concerning   the 

— unchangeable.     What  were  his    violent  de-  man  who  is  the  subject  of  his  Iiistor}'  ? 

nunciations  against  the  Scots,  against  secta-  Frank.  He  should  relate  every  circumstance 

rians,  against  infidels,  against  the  Americans,  of  importance  :  but  why  should  he  detail  those 

and  finally,  against  the  advociites  for  savage  little  weaknesses  which  are  rather  a  disgrace 

life,  but  bursts  of  passion  dictated  by  inveterate  to  human  nature   than   any  blemish    in    the 

prejudices?  character  of  tiie  individual  ?     What  advantage 

The  infidels,  for  aught  I   know  to  the  con-  can  the  world   derive   from  being  made  ac- 

trary,  might  merit  his  resentment ;  the  Scots,  quainted  with  tiie  lapses  and   follies  of  men 

by  their   intrusion   into   places  of  honor   and  eminent  for  their  virtues  and  admired  for  their 

profit  in  England,  might  expose  themselves  to  talents  ?     Nay,  I  believe  the  consequence  may 

his  fury;  the  sectarians,  by  their  opposition  to  prove  extremely  unfortunate:  by  lessening  the 

the  dosniota  of  the   church,   might   occasion  veneration  which  was  felt  for  the  character  of 

ebullitions  of  his    zeal ;    the    Americans,    by  moral    writers,   it   weakens    the   influence   of 

daring  to  rebel  against  liis  king,  might  provoke  their  works  upon  society. 

his  loyal  indignation  ;  but  the  savages — how  Piomingo.  But  docs  not  Boswell  discover 
happened  they  to  awaken  his  sore  displeasure,  great  art  in  relating  these  trifles  in  a  manner 
or  to  merit  the  disgraceful  appellation  of  brutes?  so  aareeable  as  he  has  done  ? 
It  is  probable  tiiat  Johnson  supposed  no  man  Frank.  Not  so  much  art  as  you  may  sup- 
to  be  perfectly  civilized  who  did  not  live  in  pose  :  he  discoTcrs  a  patient  and  laborious 
London,  fare  sumptuously  every  day,and  enjoy  assiduity  in  having  collected  and  preserved 
the  pleasures  of  literary  society.  He  appre-  every  JoknSonic  particle  wlietiicr  clean  or  un- 
ciatad  very  highly  the  pleasures  of  the  table  clean.  He  discovers,  in  his  own  character,  a 
and  other  luxurious  enjoyments,  and  seems  to  superabundance  of  folly  and  vanit)',and  (which 
have  preferred  the  gross  grntifications  of  sense  is  not  at  all  inconsistent  with  the  fi)regfoing 
to  the  more  refined  delights  of  the  imagina-  qualities)  a  considerable  portion  of  contempti- 
tion.  ble  cunning.     As  for   art  in   the  arrangement 

Frank.  What  is  your  opinion  of  Boswell's  of  his  materials,  it   was   totally  unnecessary: 

Life  of  Doctor  .Tohnson  ?  every   thing   that    had    any    connection   with 

Piomingo.  I  think  it  one  of  the  most  enter-  Johnson  must  afford  entertainment  to  the  pub- 

taining  books  in  the  English  language.  Every  He. 

thing  that  relates  to  so  great  a  man  as  John.  The  notice  that  is  taken  of  the  most  trifling 

son  must  be  highly  inttresting:  and  -Boswell  actions  of  a  man    celebrated  for   his  talents  is 

exposes  to  our  view  such  an  infinite  variety  of  thus    pleasantly    illustrated    by    an  agreeable 

Zj»?e  ^/n'nffs  concerning  this  illustrious  person-  writer:    "  Did  you  see   Mr.  Pope '"     "Yes." 

age,  that  the  most  prying  curiosity  finds  enter-  "  What  was  he  doing  ?"    "  Picking  his  teeth." 

tainment   and  gratification.     He   produces  so  Now,  Piomingo,  you   and    I   might   pick    our 

much    of  Johnson's    sttirlincr  intelligence,   so  teeth  for  a   month   before   any  one  would   ob- 

many  inter.-sting  literary' coiiversations,  inter-  serve  it;  but  Jolnison   could   not  change   his 

spersed  with  curious  anecdotes,  and  the  whole  linen,   squeeze   an   orange,  or   blow   his  nose, 

related  in  a  manner  so  amusing,  that  we  can-  without  Boswell's   makmg  a  memorandum  of 

not  read  withsut  receiving  instruction  and  en-  the    occurrence   for   the    information    of  pos- 

tertainment.     Yet,  afler   having    pronounced  terity. 

this   euloffy  on   the   work,   I  must  take    tlie  at    ,   li                ,  ■»  ■     t      .  •.  j   .  „ 

,.,     ,     ,  ^■'.,  ,,    ,   „                  11.-          I  My  tables — meet  it  is,  I  set  it  down, 

liberty  to  add,  that  the  man  wlio   has  tormed  -^ 

his  opinion  of  Johnson  from  reading  the  Ram-  Why  should    we   be  told   that  Johnson  de- 

bjers  and  Idlers  will. find  the  character  of  the  Voured  his  food  with  such  voracity  as  to  excite 

great  moralist  sink  in  his  estimation  in  conse-  a  perspiration   in   his   face,  and   occasion   the 

quence  of  the  perusal  of  Boswell's  production,  veins  in  his  forehead  to  sweH,  to  the  great  an- 

Frank.  Although  I  derived  much  pleasure  noyance  of  his    delicate    associates?      What 

froni  this   performance,   I   have   often  wished  benefit  is  the  world   to   derive   from   this  dis.. 

that  Johnson  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  have  gusting  picture  ?     It   may  lessen  the   respect 

repulsed  the  advances  of  the   creeping  insinu-  we  felt  for   a   man   who  was  an  honor  to  his 

ating   intriguing  animal   that  afterwards   be-  country ;  and  it  may  afford  us   a   momentary 

came  his  biographer.     The  indefatigable  syco-  amusement;  but  we  hate  Boswell  for  having- 

phant,  taking  advantage   of  the   intimacy  he  noticed  the  circumstance.     It  was  observed  by 

enjoyed,  and  proud  of  the  ascendancy  he  had  Sir  William    Jones,  that  the   best  monument 

acquired  over  a   mind  so  much  superior  to  his  that  could  be  raised  to  a  literary  man  is  a  good 

own,  pried   into   every  corner,  searched   out  edition  of  his  works :  and   I  will  ventare  to 

K 


THE  SAVAGE. 


add,  that  (whether  we  consider  the  fame  of 
the  author,  or  the  good  of  society)  the  best 
life  of  Jolinson  would  Iiave  been  a  splendid  edi- 
tion of  all  ii^s  works,  except  his  political  pam- 
piilets.  In  corroboration  of  what  I  have  said, 
it  may  be  observed  that  Johnson,  in  order  to 
display  his  powers  in  colloquial  controversy, 
frequently  advanced  and  supported  opinions 
which  he  ventured  not  to  inculcate  in  his  wri- 
tings. 

Piomingo.  Boswell,  certainly,  did  not  sup- 
press the  foibles  of  his  hero;  neither  did  he 
appear  desiious  of  concealing  his  own. 

Frank.  A  man  is  as  much  to  blame  for  ex- 
posing his  own  failings  unnecessarily  as  those 
of  another.  There  are  a  great  many  disagreea- 
ble things  in  human  nature  which  ought  to  be 
carefully  concealed. 

Piomingo.  What  I  do  you  dislike  a  man  who 
declares  his  thoughts  openly  and  freely  ?  do 
you  plead  for  dissimulation  and  hypocrisy  ? 

Frank.  1  am  an  enemy  to  every  species  of 
imposition  ;  but  I  see  no  necessity  for  exposing 
disagreeable  objects,  when  no  good  can  result 
from  this  exposure,  and  when  no  evil  can  be 
the  consequence  of  concealment.  What  a  fool 
that  man  would  be  who  should  proclaim  aloud 
his  vain,  wicked,  or  childish  thoughts  I  Even 
your  blunt  and  impudent  men  conceal  ten 
times  more  than  they  make  known  to  the 
world.  Nay,  it  is  a  common  saying,  that  the 
only  difference  between  a  M^ise  man  and  a  fool 
is  that  the  former  exercises  a  sound  discretion 
in  this  point ;  but  the  latter  turns  indiscrimi- 
nately his  thoughts  into  words. 

Pimningo.  This,  like  many  other  common 
sayings,  is  far  from  correct.  The  wise  man 
and  the  fool  are  essentially  different ;  the  for- 
mer perceives  clearly,  reasons  accurateljf,  and 
judges  soundly ;  but  the  latter  is  incapable  of 
these  things. 

Frank.  I  mean  not  to  enter  the  lists  in  de- 
fence of  the  saying  ;  but  I  contend  that,  should 
the  wisest  man  in  existence  give,  without  re- 
servation, expression  to  his  thoughts,  he  would 
Boon  be  confined  in  a  madhouse. 

Piomingo.  Whenever  any  thing  is  concealed, 
there  is  danger  of  imposition  ;  because  we  may 
be  led  on  by  a  pleasing  exterior  to  form  con- 
nections with  an  object,  in  consequence  of  an 
erroneous  estimate  of  its  value,  if  we  be  not 
made  acquainted  with  the  internal,  as  well  as 
the  external,  qualities. 

Frank.  And  if  wc  were  acquainted  with 
these  internal  qualities,  you  speak  of,  I  am 
afraid  that  every  object  in  existence  would  be 
odious  in  our  sight.  I  expiess  my  opinions 
more  freely  than  most  men ;  and  have  tlie  re- 
putation of  being  "  a  plain  blunt  man"  who 
♦'  Speaks  right  on" — so  much  so,  that  among 
my  neighbors  I  am  generally  known  by  the  ap- 
pellation oi Honest  Frank;  yet  I  have  a  thous- 
and foolish  thoughts  and  ridiculous  notions, 
which  I  could  not  be  bribed  to  mako  known. 

Nature  has  been  blamed  for  not  having  put 
^  window  in  the  breast  of  man  that  ihe  secrets 


of  his  mind  niight  be  visible  ;  but  she  has  been 
unjustly  blamed.  Since  she  had  resolved  to 
build  a  receptacle  for  "all  manner  of  creeping 
things,"  she  acted  wisely  in  concealing  the 
place  of  her  abominations.  Could  we  enter 
into  the  recesses  of  the  minds  of  the  most  vir- 
tuous men,  it  is  probable  that  we  should  find 
so  much  selfishness,  vanity,  and  folly,  that  we 
should  both  hate  and  despise  those  who  are  at 
present  the  objects  of  our  respect  and  venera- 
tion. Could  we  become  acquainted  with  the 
secret  thoughts  of  our  most  intimate  friends, 
there  is  little  doubt  but  our  love  and  attach- 
ment would  give  place  to  hatred  and  indigna- 
tion. If  there  be  any  truth  in  these  surmises, 
a  wise  man  should  be  content  with  externals, 
whsn  the  exterior  is  pleasing,and  not  endeavor 
to  pry  into  those  things  which  are  judiciously 
concealed  from  his  eyes.  But  a  principle  of 
curiosity  still  prompts  us  to  examine,  as  far  as 
we  are  able,  the  secret  workings  of  the  mind, 
though  the  discoveries  which  we  make  are 
productive  of  consequences  injurious  to  our 
happiness  as  individuals,  and  desfaructive  of 
the  regard  we  should  feci  for  our  species  in 
general. 

Piomingo.  And  did  you  ever  ask  yourself 
the  reason  why  you  were  not  inclined  to  dis- 
close your  thoughts  ?  Is  not  this  backward- 
ness occasioned  by  a  blind  deference  to  the 
maxims  and  customs  of  the  world  ?  Is  not 
this  concealment  rendered  necessary  by  the 
vicious  disposition  of  mankind  ?  When  you 
are  in  a  crowd,  you  think  it  necessary  to  take 
care  of  your  pockets;  when  robberies  are  fre- 
quent, you  bolt  and  lock  your  doors  that  you 
may  rest  in  security ;  and  in  civilized  nations, 
you  conceal  your  thoughts,  because  you  aro 
surrounded  by  men  who  wait  to  take  advan- 
tage of  your  weaknesses,  and  who  are  ever 
ready  to  usurp  a  dominion  over  your  mind  and 
to  become  masters  of  your  actions  by  bribing, 
terrifying,  or  otherwise  managing  your  pas- 
sions, propensities  and  inclinations.  It  is  not 
on  account  of  the  wickedness  or  folly  of  his 
own  thoughts  that  a  virtuous  man  thinks  pro- 
per to  conceal  them,  but  because  experience 
has  made  him  acquainted  with  the  malignant 
and  ungenerous  disposition  of  the  world.  And 
this  evil  disposition,  which  I  have  noticed,  is 
not  owing  to  any  inherent  depravity,  but  solely 
to  a  vicious  education.  What  else  could  be 
expected  among  a  people  who  are  instructed, 
from  their  infancy,  in  the  practice  of  deception ; 
who  are  taught  to  wear  the  semblance  of  virtue 
merely  for  the  purpose  of  concealing  the  sub- 
stance of  vice ;  who  are  taught  to  consider 
life  as  a  struggle  for  pre-eminence,  and 
who,  being  prohibited  the  use  of  open  force, 
are  under  the  necessity  of  having  recourse  to 
artifice  and  fraud  ? 

This  is  not  exaggeration.  The  multiplicity 
of  your  laws  proclaims  tlie  corruption  of  your 
manners  and  your  attachment  to  vicious  pur- 
suits. Laws  are  never  enacted  to  punish  crimes 
which  there  is  no  disposition  in  the  community 


THE  SAVAGE. 


83 


to  Commit.  If  laws,  therefore,  forbid  tlie  com- 
mission of  vice,  it  would  seem  to  follow  that 
the  principal  part  of  education,  in  a  civilized 
society,  would  consist  in  teachingf  youth  how 
to  evade  the  spirit  of  the  laws  without  trans- 
gressing the  letter. 

I  know  a  person  now,  who  has  often  boasted 
in  my  hearing  of  having  disposed  of  a  horse, 
not  worth  twenty  dollars,  to  an  ig-norant  travel- 
ler for  one  hundred  and  fifty.  This  man  has 
never  been  known  to  practise  robbery  or  theft, 
according  to  tiie  legal  definition  of  those  terms; 
but  he  takes  to  care  enjoy  the  advantages  that 
flow  from  a  perpetration  of  those  crimes 
without  incurring  any  of  those  dangers  which 
environ  the  robber  or  the  thief  who  answers 
tlie  technical  description  of  the  law. 

A  man  would  be  a  fool  indeed  who  would 
expose  the  secrets  of  his  mind  to  civilized 
sharpers,  who  lie  continually  in  wait  to  avail 
themselves  of  every  favorable  opportunity  that 
fortune  may  throw  in  their  way.  Yet  if  so- 
ciety were  so  constituted  that  man  did  not  prey 
on  man,  there  would  be  no  necessity  for  the 
cautious  concealment  you  seem  to  recom- 
mend. 

Frank.  There  may  be  some  truth  in  your 
observations  ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
men,  with  an  education  the  most  salutary  that 
could  be  devised  (by  all  the  wisdom  of  all  the 
philosophers,  savage  and  civilized)  would  still 
find  it  necessary  to  conceal  their  feelings  and 
their  tlionghie  from  each  other.  I  have  heard 
it  said  that  truth  was  the  cement  of  society  ; 
but,  in  my  opinion,  men  are  held  together  by 
the  means  of  falsehood  and  illusion.  Could 
they  see  each  other,  as  they  are,  there  would 
be  nothing  but  mutual  abhorrence  and  conten- 
tion. 

An  ingenious  writer  has  observed  that  "if 
our  souls  had  not  been  united  to  material  sub- 
stances, they  would  still  have  been  capable  of 
knowledge,  but  it  is  probable  they  would  have 
loved  whatever  they  knew  ;  whereas,  in  the 
present  constitution  of  things,  we  scarcely 
love  any  thing  but  that  of  which  we  are  igno- 
rant." All  our  happiness  consists  in  delusive 
appearances:  we  search  into  the  nature  of 
things  with  eagerness  and  curiosity ;  but  the 
moment  that  any  subject  is  tiioroughly  inves- 
tigated, we  are  disgusted  and  unhappy.  The 
sentient  principle  and  reasoning  powers  seem 
to  unfit  us  for  the  station  in  which  we  are 
placed.  They  enable  us  to  discover  a  thousand 
imperfections  in  ourselves,  in  others,  and  in  the 
myriads  of  objects  which  surround  us.  They 
prompt  us  to  inquire  into  the  nature  of  our 
pleasures,  and  examine  the  foundation  of  our 
momentary  happiness  ;  but  our  delights  and 
enjoyments  will  not  bear  to  be  analyzed  :  the 
instant  they  are  subjected  to  the  scrutiny  of 
reason,  the  vapors  disappear ;  and  we  wonder 
how  we  came  to  be  pleased.  You  have  said 
that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  inherent  deprav- 
ity ;  but  if  there  be  radical  imperfection  in  our 
"-"{ ^^e.  where  is  the  difference  ?    We  neces- 


sarily fall  into  error ;  and  our  minds  become 
the  seats  of  corruption  and  vice.  When  we 
look  inward  upon  this  magazine  of  faults,  this 
workshop  of  iniquity,  we  are  frightened  at  our 
own  depravity,  and  endeavor  carefully  to  con- 
ceal it  from  the  world,  and,  as  much  as  possi- 
ble,  from  ourselves.  All  things  are  imperfect 
that  fall  within  the  circle  of  our  observation  : 
and  if  we  be  not  deceived  by  our  pride,  we 
will  acknowledge  that  man  is  imperfect  as 
well  as  the  rest.  Has  not  nature  dressed  the 
surface  of  things  with  a  profusion  of  embel- 
lishments,  and  placed  in  the  centre  her  reposi- 
tory of  poisons,  her  seeds  of  corruption  and 
death  ?  Is  man  an  exception  ?  Alas  I  he  is 
not.  How  often,  during  our  intercourse  with 
the  world,  are  we  captivated  by  a  pleasing  ex- 
terior, and  afterwards  have  occasion  to  ex- 
claim, 

O  villain,  villain, smiling  damned  villam  ! 

Pioiningo.  But  all  men  are  not  villains. 

Frank.  All  men  do  not  deserve  the  appella- 
tion of  villains ;  but  all  have  their  faults,  follies 
and  weaknesses,  which  they  very  properly  and 
judiciously  conceal.  What  though  I  be  im- 
posed on  a  dozen  times  in  my  life  by  specious 
deceivers — is  it  not  much  better  so,  than  it 
would  be  if  I  were  able  to  see,  in  every  one's 
countenance,  the  turpitude  and  depravity  of  his 
mind  ? — I  should  find  myself  surrounded  by 
monsters,  and  be  obliged  to  seek  a  refuge 
among  the  rocks  of  the  desert.  I  wish  every 
man  to  hide  his  faults  as  ingeniously  as  possi- 
ble. Though  men  have  the  hearts  of  devils,  I 
desire  them  to  wear  the  faces  of  angels;  be- 
cause their  faces  fall  continually  under  my  in- 
spection, but  I  have  very  little  concern  with 
their  hearts. 

Piomingo.  If  I  were  among  devils,  I  should 
like  to  know  it,  that  I  might  be  on  my  guard 
against  their  wicked  machinations.  Would  to 
God,  that  every  face  were,  as  it  ought  to  be,  a 
picture  of  the  mind  ! 

Frank.  What  species  of  armor  would  you 
use  for  your  defence?  How  would  you  pro- 
tect yourself  on  every  side,  at  all  times,  and  in 
all  places  ?  Must  you  be  for  ever  uneasy  ?  If 
a  blind  man  were  in  a  dungeon  among  ser- 
pents, and  it  were  impossible  to  extricate  him 
from  his  perilous  situation,  would  it  not  be 
cruel  to  inform  him  of  lus  danger  ?  We  are 
placed  upon  the  earth,  and  necessarily  con- 
nected with  men ;  is  it  not  much  better  that 
we  should  remain  ignorant  of  the  wickedness 
and  malignity  of  our  associates  ? 

An  agreeable  face  conceals  a  vicious  mind 
in  the  same  manner  that  dress  hides  the  de- 
formities and  diseases  of  the  body.  When  wo 
walk  in  the  streets  and  press  through  the  mar- 
ket, every  one  we  see  makes  a  tolerable  ap- 
pearance ;  but  were  it  not  for  dress  which  en- 
velops the  bodies  of  the  multitude,  we  should 
be  continually  shocked  with  distorted  shapes, 
"  wounds,  bruises,  and  putrefying  sores."  Let 
us  therefore  be  thankful  to  the  vestments  which 


84 


THE  SAVAGE. 


cover  tlicse  deformities  of  the  body  ;  and  let  need  clothing  to  hide  your  diseased  distorted 
us  be  pleaded  witii  a  smiling  face  tliat  hides  bodies,  and  fig  leaves  to  conceal  your  distem- 
from  our  view  tlic  diseases  ofllic  mind.  pcrcd  minds.     But  savages   can  dispense  with 

I  mentioned  before,  that  oar  inquisitive  dis-  garments  to  shroud  their  straight  and  well 
position  and  our  propensity  to  reason  on  every  turned  limbs,  and  with  deceitful  smiles  to  veil 
subject  have  an  immediate  tendency  to  render   their  ingenuous  hearts. 

us  unhappy.     This  opinion  I  will  endeavor  to        Frank.  Well,  I  see  we  should  never  agree  on 
illustrate  by  a  sublime   comparison,  and    then    this   subject.     If  you   be    disposed   to  ramble 
1  shall  have  done  :  "If  the  sun  breed  maggots"    fartlier,  you   may   continue    your    excursion 
(why  do  you   laugh  ?    the   language  is   Sliak-    alone.  It  is  a  folly  to  walk  without  an  object  in 
spcare's)  "  If  the  sun  breed  maggots  in  a  dead    summer  ;  but  tiie  man  who  will  leave  a  warm 
doo-,"   these   maggots  are  unconscious   of  the    fire  in  the  winter,  unless  compelled  by  neces- 
filth  and  abomination  in  wliich  they  are  im-    sity,  and  expose  himself  to  the   blasts  of  the 
mersed ;  they  have  no  idea  of  any  state  supe-    north,  must  be  wholly  insane, 
rior  to  tiieir  own,  nor  of  any  happiness  greater        Piomingo.  Your    will    is    my    guide; — but 
than  that  which  they  enjoy ;  consequently  they    Frank,  who  was  that  other  foreigner  to  whom 
cannot  be  miserable.     But  man  is  cursed  with    you  were  disposed  to  direct  my  attention  ? 
the  ability  of  perceiving  his  degraded  situation;        Frank.  Ah,  truly,  T    had   totally  forgotten, 
he  is  able  to  form  ideas  of  perfection  to  which    For  some    months  past  we  have  witnessed   a 
he  can  never  attain  ;  he  feels  an  inclination  to    prodigy  :  P'rom  the  dcptlis  of  the  wilderness, 
aspire;  he  despises  the  earth  which  gave  him    cautibus  horrens  ;  from  amid  tlie  howling  wild 
birth,  and  would  ascend  to  the  mansion  of  the    beasts  of  the  desert ;  from  the  bosom  of  one  of 
gods;  he  would   subject  the   universe   to  his    those  barbarous  hordes  which  infest  our-fron- 
empire,  and   partake  of  delights   too  sublime    tiers,  there  has  issued — ye  will  not  believe  it, 
for  his  nature-^in  consequence  of  which,  he  is    posterity  ! — there  has  issued  a  savage, — 
miserable.     Upon    the  whole  I   conclude  that 
Buch  an  animal  as  man  should  not  have  been  Q"^'^  portentum  neque  militaris 

J        J      ..1  ,•  4  J      uu  IJaiinia  m  latis  alu  esculetis, 

endowed  with  perception  so  acute,  and  with  ^^^ ^^^^  ,^,1^^    ^^^^^^^  j^^^^^ 

desires  so  aspiring' — Uiis  aliter  visu7n  est.  Arida  nutrix' 

Piomingo.  You  and  your  furious  instructor 

may  prate  about  the  wickedness  of  the   heart  A  savage,  who  presumes  to   instruct  the  illu- 

as  long  as  you  please  ;  but  every  one  must  ad-  minated,  the  wise,  the   polished,  the   civilized, 

mit  that  no  one  is  wicked  before  the  commence-  inhabitants  of  these  free  sovereign   and  inde- 

mentof  his  existence.     And  as  soon  as  he  ex-  pendent  states,  which  are,  I  say,  and  of  right 

ists  he  becomes  wax  in  the  hands  of  society,  ought  to  be,  free  sovereign  and   independent 

His  infant  mind  takes  the  color  of  surrounding  states, — who,  (the  savage  I  mean)  not  having 

objects  ;  by  education  he  is  exalted  to  a  god  ;  tlie  fear  of  God  before  his  eyes,  nor  reverencing 

by  education  he  is  converted  to  a  devil ;  or,  by  the  majesty  of  the  American  people,  but  being 

education  he  is  degraded  to  a  brute.  moved  thereto  by  the   instigation  of  the  devil, 

By  the  customs  and  institutions  of  society,  hath,   daringly,    knowingly,  wickedly,  malici- 

by  the  precepts  and  examples  of  seniors  and  ously,  malignantly,  enviously,  feloniously,  in- 

guardians,  he  becomes  initiated  in  wickedness;  sidiously,  burglariously,  barbarously,  savagely 

and,  as  advancement  and  prosperity  in  life  de-  and  of  malice  aforethought,  presumed   to  in. 

pend  upon  the   exercise  of  dissimulation  and  struct   this   wonderful  peojile,  this    nation  of 

cunning,  he   conceals  his  vicious  thoughts  till  kings,  in  the  science  of  morals  !     Give  ear,  O 

they  ripen  into  crimes.     Were  the  mind  first  heavens  ! — • 

subjected   to    salutary   impressions,  were   the  Pioviingo.  What  do  yon  mean? 

circumstances  which  influence  its  earliest  de-  Frank.  Do  not,  I  beseech  thee,  do  not  inter- 

cisions  favorable  to  the  production  of  virtue,  rupt  me. — Give  ear,  O  heavens  !    hearken,  O 

there  would  be  no  necessity  for  concealment ;  earth  1 — 

and  the  workshop  of  iniquity,  which   terrifies  Piomingo.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

your  mind,  would  never  be  erected,  Frank.  These  are  savage  interruptions,  Pio. 

You  unfortunately  attempted  to  enforce  your  mingo.     You  have  ruined  a  sublime  apostro- 

Bcntiraents  by  a  reference  to  dress,     Did  it  not  phe  ;  you   have  snapped  asunder  the  chain  of 

occur  to  you   that  your  civilized   institutions  my  ideas  ;  you  have  extinguished  my  poetical 

have  produced  the  diseascg  and  deformities  of   enthusiasm ;  and  now  I   must  proceed  to  give 

the  body  as  well  as  the  errors  and  vices  of  the  you  a  dull  prosaic  detail  of  circumstances. 

mind?     Did  you  not  reflect  upon  the  pernici-  Piomingo.  Be  as  prosaic  as  you  please,  but 

ous  consequences  of  continual  labor  and  brute-  not  tedious. 

like    drudgery? — They    have    degraded    the  Frank.  This  savage,  of  whom  I  spake,  hav- 

proudest  work  of  nature  to  a  beast  of  burthen;  ing    thrown   aside    his     tomahawk,    scalping 

they  have  extinguished  the   ethereal  spark  in  knife,  and  rifle, — having    divested  himself  of 

his   breast,  and   infused  into  his  soul  the  ma-  his  wampum,  breechclout,  blanket,  moeensons, 

lignity  of  a  demon.     Did  you   also  forget  to  and  leggins — having  laid  aside  his  buck's  tail 

consider  the  evils  produced   by  intemperance,  and  feathers,  ear  rings  and   nose  jewels,  half 

luxury  and  sloth  ? — Alas  !  it  is  too  true  :  You  moons  and  bracelets,  beads,  broaches  and  gew^ 


THE  SAVAGE. 


eji 


gaws — having  washed  the  paint  from  his  vi- 
sag^e  and  taken  up  the  pen,  produces  a  weekly 
phiHippic  against  the  blessings  and  delights  of 
a  civilized  life — but,  as  your  barbarous  counte- 
nance is  a  picture  of  your  mind,  that  mind,  I 
see,  is  considerably  agitated.  I  fear  it  will  not 
be  safe  to  favor  you  v/ith  my  opinions  on  the 
conduct  of  this  savage;  bull  will,  if  you  please, 
give  yon  the  sentiments  of  others. 
Piomingo.  Do  so. 

Frank.  Well  then,  they  say  (by  they  you 
are  to  understand  every  body,  any  body,  no- 
body, the  wise,  the  foolish,  the  world,  or  any 
thing  you  choose)  they  say — but  1  forgot  to 
premise  (which  would  have  been  a  very  capital 
omission)  I  forgot  to  premise — 

Piomingo.  Frank!  your  parentheses  distract 
me  !  By  the  mingo  of  the  skies,  if  you  proceed 
with  your  cursed  involutions — 

Frank.  Enough,  enough,  Piomingo.  Do  not 
raise  the  warwhoop,  I  entreat  you.  I  shall 
proceed  straight  forward  with  my  story. 

They  say,  that  this  savage,  having  seen  our 
flourishing  cities  and  beautiful  fields,  having 
witnessed  the  state  of  our  agriculture,  com- 
merce and  manufactures,  and  all  the  pleasures 
that  flow  from  our  salutary  institutions,  and 
having  contrasted  these  blessings  with  tlie 
miserable  enjoyments  of  the  naked,  half-starv. 
ed  shivering  Indians,  he  felt  the  same  envious 
malignity  ia  his  breast  which  Satan  is  said  to 
liave  felt  when  he  contemplated  the  happiness 
and  innocence  of  our  parents  in  paradise;  and 
he  resolved,  in  imitation  of  the  illustrious  per- 
sonage just  mentioned,  to  disturb  that  felicity, 
which  he  and  his  brethren  were  not  destined 
to  enjoy. 

Piomingo.  What, to  introduce  Sin  and  Death 
among  the  happy  and  virtuous  inhabitants  of 
the  civilized  world  ?  Would  to  God,  that  the 
arts  and  refinements,  the  vices  and  diseases,  of 
the  eliildren  of  Europe  had  remained  forever 
unknown  to  the  savag-es  you  despise  !  Re- 
verse the  picture  ;  and  the  representation  will 
not  be  wholly  destitute  of  truth.  But  pro- 
ceed. 

Frank.  They  say.  that  tliis  savage  resem- 
bles the  fox  in  the  fable  ;  who,  finding  himself 
unfortunately  destitute  of  a  tail,  endeavored  to 
persuade  the  community  of  foxes  that  tails 
were  a  useless  incumbrance.  Now  this  savage 
being  a  barbarian  probably  indigent — 

Piomingo,  You  may  dispense  with  the  ap- 
plication, and  proceed  with  your  intelli- 
gence— 

Frank.  They  say,  that  your  publication,  (for 
thou  art  the  man)  is  a  dull  and  insipid  produc- 
tion; but  that  among  a  great  deal  of  rubbish 
thei^  may  sometimes  be  found  a  sparkling 
idea.  Now  as  they  have  always  conceived  it 
impossible  for  a  savage  to  think,  they  find 
themselves  wholly  unable  to  account  for  the 
thoughts  that  are  scattered  through  your  wri- 
tings.  For  a  savage  whose  brain,  or  whose 
mind,  is  a  tabula  rasa — for  a  savage,  whose 
brutal  instinct  merely  enables  him  to  ramble 


over  mountains  or  creep  through  the  thiclcets, 
to  manage  a  canoe  with  adroitness  or  take  off 
a  scalp  with  dexterity — for  such  a  one  to  think, 
reflect,  compare,  is  altogether  unaccountable  I 

Can  he  be  fashioned  on  the  social  plan. 
Or  boast  a  lineage  with  the  race  of  man  ? 

These  considerations  have  induced  them  to 
suppose  that  the  account  you  have  given  of 
yourself  is  fictitious:  some  have  even  proceeded 
so  far  as  to  say  you  are  civilized. 

Piomingo.  Who  said  that?  My  sava"-e 
honesty  of  soul  no  man  shall  dispute  with  im- 
punity. I  will  immediately  have  recourse  to 
the  law.     An  action  will  certainly  lie  ? 

Frank.  I  think  not. 

Piomingo.  So,  it  seems  your  laws  deny  me 
the  privilege  of  avenging  myself  on  my  ene- 
mies,  yet  point  out  no  other  mode  of  redress. 
Is  that  libeity  ? 

Frank.  Let  me  consider  :  The  words  are  not 
actionable  perse.  It  may  be  damnum;  but 
then  would  be  damnum  absque  injuria.  Prove 
special  damage — action /)er  quod.  Provocation 
— tends  to  a  breach — contra  parem.  Libellous 
— let  me  sec — not  true — so  much  the  worse. 
No  hook  to  hang  a  quirk  on.  Headman  and 
warrior  of  the  Muscogulgce  nation — scanda- 
lum  maiinatum.  To  say  of  a  lord — Cro.  Car. 
Cro.  Juc.  Tom.  tit.  quint.  Eliz. 

Piomingo.  What  is  that  ? 

Frank.  Wisdom,  Piomingo,  profound  wis. 
dom  ;  but  as  you  are  a  barbarian,  you  cannot 
understand  it. — It  is  said  that  you  are  an  aris- 
tocrat. 

Piomingo.  So  I  am  :  who  would  not  rather 
be  governed  by  the  best  than  by  the  loorst  of 
the  community  ?  But  I  am  an  enemy  to  here- 
ditary aristocracy,  and  still  more  opposed  to 
the  aristocracy  of  wealth  :  I  wish  virtue,  ta- 
lents and  wisdom  to  assume  their  proper  place 
in  society. 

Frank.  It  is  sometimes  said,  you  arc  a  demo-. 
crat  and  leveller. 

Piomingo.  lama  friend  to  the  people  :  may 
they  "  get  wisdom  and  seek  understanding.'* 
May  they  learn  to  tliink  for  themselves,  and 
no  longer  be  swayed  by  the  influence  of"  the 
wealthy,  or  governed  by  the  cunning  of  politi- 
cal intriguers. 

Frank.  Tiiey  say  you  are  an  atheist  and  a, 
deist. 

Piomingo.  Curious  enousfh !  I  would  not 
fall  down  to  worship  the  golden  image  which 
civil  zed  society  has  set  up,  though  my  disobe, 
dicnce  should  cast  me  in  the  furnace  of  adver, 
sity  heated  seven  times  as  hot  as  ever  I  have 
found  it. 

Frank.  They  say  you  are  a  fool. 

Piomingo.  Folly,  I  believe  is  not  peculiav 
to  me  : 

et  niihi  dulces 


Ignoscent,  si  quid  peccavero  stultus.  amici  : 
Inque  vicem,  illorum  patiar  delicta  libenter. 

Frank.  The  profound  and  sagacious  editor 
of  a  political  a.nd  lilerart/ joarna.]  has  ticated 


86 


THE  SAVAGE. 


your  Savage  with  rudeness  and  severity  :  and, 
as  you  liavc  taken  no  notice  of'tliis  caustic  and 
wilty  production,  it  is  supposed  tliat  you  are 
unable  to  answer  it. 

Piomingo.  Astoj  fu-vixi  »  Bn^ivu.  The 
Frenehman  and  his  criticism  are  equally  un- 
worthy of  attention. 

Frank.  Do  you  deal  in  proverbs  ? 

Piomingo.  Not  much.  Savage  as  I  am,  I 
bow  to  tlie  opinion  of  Lord  Cliesterfield  con- 
cerning the  use  of  vulgar  English  j>roverhs  ; 
but  as  I  have  in  my  possession  a  collection 
Mi;^aijXof  A7rocrTo^(«  nx^otjA-iuti,  I  believe  I 
will  fill  a  few  pages  of  the  .Savage  wiih  them 
occasionally:  they  are  equal  to  the  best  of 
poor  Richard's,  and  excel  the  Vv'isest  apoph- 
thegms of  Spain. 

Frank.  Very  right:  and  sprinkle  your  pages 
hereafter  with  Greek.  We  always  love  what 
we  do  not  understand.  The  hour  of  dinner 
approaches.  May  the  mingo  of  the  clouds  pro- 
tect you  from  evil ! 

Piomingo.  May  the  mammon  of  unrighte- 
ousness be  propitious  to  your  prayers  I 

Punctuation:  from  Crito, 

Doctor  Johnson,  with  his  usual  good  sense, 
has  remarked  that  "  most  writers  of  English 
grammar  have  given  long  tables  of  words  pro- 
nounced otherwise  tlian  they  are  written  ;  and 
seem  not  sufficiently  to  have  considered,  that, 
of  English,  as  of  all  living  tongues,  there  is  a 
double  pronunciation  :  one  cursory  and  collo- 
quial ;  the  other  regular  and  solemn.  The 
cursory  pronunciation  is  always  vague  and 
uncertain,  being  made  different,  in  different 
mouths,  by  negligence,  unskilfulness,  or  affec- 
tation. The  solemn  pronunciation,  though  by 
no  means  immutable  and  permanent,  is  yet 
always  less  remote  from  the  orthography,  and 
less  liable  to  capricious  innovation.  They 
have,  however,  generally  formed  their  tables 
according  to  the  cur.sory  speech  of  those  with 
whom  they  happen  to  converse,and  concluding 
that  the  whole  nation  combines  to  vitiate  lan- 
guage in  one  manner,  have  often  established 
the  jargon  of  the  lowest  of  the  people  as  the 
model  of  speech.  For  pronunciation,  the  best 
general  rule  is,  to   consider  those   as  the  most 

.  .elegant  speakers  who  deviate  least   from  the 

"♦written  words." 

Some  have  been  inclined  to  dispute  the  jus- 
tice  of  these  observations  :  but,  to  me,  they 
appear  correct  and  judicious.  There  are  so 
many  capricious  varieties  in  the  current  pro- 
nunciation  of  a  living  language,  that  an  at- 
tempt to  establish  a  uniform  standard  of  or- 
thoepy by  any  one  man's  ideas  of  propriety 
must  be  regarded  as  a  hopeless  undertaking. 
One  pronunciation  prevails  at  the  theatre; 
another  is  sanctioned  by  the  gentlemen  of  the 
bar  ;  and  a  third  is  favored  by  divines.  The 
eouth  and  the  north,  the  east  and  the  west, 
have  their  respective  peculiarities  of  sound  : 
and  all  these  unfortunate  localities  have  their 


advocates  and  defenders.  Among  these  con- 
flicting claims,what  better  plaji  can  we  pursue 
than  to  lay  it  down  as  the  golden  rule  in  pro- 
nunciation, that  the  most  elegant  speakers  are 
those  who  deviate  least  from  the  written  loords. 
Multitudes  of  spelling  books  and  grammara 
have  appeared  in  the  United  States;  and  in  the 
most,  if  not  all  of  these,  are  exhibited  long  ta- 
bles of  words  spelled  in  one  manner,  and  di- 
rected to  be  pronounced  in  another.  Some> 
times  a  letter  is  said  to  be  silent,  when  it  might 
with  the  utmost  propriety  be  sounded ;  again, 
we  are  gravely  informed  that  one  letter  usurp.s 
the  power  of  another,  when  we  can  see  no 
reason  why  it  is  not  content  with  its  own. 
Some  words,  though  they  have  long  siace  be- 
come a  part  of  our  language,  are  said  to  be 
French  :  and  we  are  obliged  to  torture  our  or- 
gans for  the  sake  of  producing  an  outlandish, 
guttural  or  nasal  twang;  which  being  found 
utterly  impracticable,  we  generate  a  word 
which  is  neither  English  nor  French,  but  a 
ridiculous  fabrication  of  our  own.  What  con- 
temptible servility  is  this  !  Must  there  be  a 
numerous  class  of  words  which  the  great  body 
of  the  people,  who  understand  no  language  but 
their  own  are  utterly  unable  to  pronounce  ? 
Why  should  aid-de-camp.,  envelope,  environs, 
connoisseur,  instead  of  being  pronounced 
agreeably  to  the  powers  of  the  letters  in  the 
English  language,  be  converted  into  ade-de. 
cawng,ongvelo2Je,ongveerons,connossare,which 
are  neither  French,  English,  nor  good  high 
Dutch  ? 

It  must  be  acknowledged,  that  since  the  ap- 
pearance of  ortlioepical  dictionaries,  the  solemn 
pronunciation,  noticed  by  Johnson,  has  greatly 
declined  :  however  solemn  the  style,  however 
important  the  subject,  the  polite  orator  has 
adopted  the  flippant  and  cursory  pronunciation; 
and  minces  and  aspirates  agreeably  to  the  di- 
rections of  Sheridan  and  Walker.  How  long 
will  our  lawyers,  divines,  and  legislating  ora- 
tors, who  boast  so  much  of  their  independence, 
regulate  their  |)ronunciation  according  to  the 
capricts  of  the  vulgar,  great  and  small,  of  the 
city  of  London  ?  Our  universities,  colleges, 
and  public  speakers,  should  appoint  agents  to 
reside  continually  in  the  metropolis  of  the 
British  empire  for  the  purpose  of  transmitting 
without  delay,  to  the  wilds  of  America,  the 
polite  and  fashionable  modes  of  torturing  words 
practised  by  gamesters,  fops  and  fools  at  the 
head  quarters  of  refinement  and  corruption. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  the  ridiculous  affecta- 
tion of  our  fashionable  speakers,  it  may  still  be 
observed  that  when  the  emphasis  is  placed  on 
a  word  the  unaccented  vowels  receive  a  sound 
different  from  that  which  they  have  when  the 
word  is  not  emphatical :  how  is  this  variation 
to  be  noted  by  the  modest  orthoepist,  who 
would  regulate  our  pronunciation  by  that  of 
the  circle  in  which  he  has  moved  ? 

Mr.  Walker  appears  to  have  been  so  sensible 
of  the  difficulties  of  the  task  he  had  undertaken, 
that  he  candidly  acknowledges,  "  the  imper- 


THE  SAVAGE.  87 

ceptible  glances  of  colloquial  pronunciation  are  cing   dictionaries   is  the   horrible    manner  in 

not  to  be  caught   and  described  by  the  pen  ;"  which  they  deform  the  orthography  of  the  lan- 

but  he  pleases  himself  with  the  reflection,  that,  guage.     It  is  found  to  be  a  mutter  of  no  little 

if  "he  cannot  point   out  the   precise  sound  of  ditRculty  to  acquire   the   art   of  spelling  with 

unaccented   syllables,  he    may    at    least    give  propriet}'.     I  do  not  believe  that  one  person  in 

those  sounds  which  approach  the  nearest,  and  a  hundred  can  write  twenty  lines  without  mis- 

by  tliis  means  become  a  little  more  useful  tlian  spelling  some  of  the  words.     And  if,  before  the 

those  who  so  liberally  leave  every  tiling  to  the  appearance  of  pronouncing  dictionaries,  it  was, 

ear  and  taste  of  the  speaker."     Now  1  should  so  hard  to  attain    a  competent  knowledge   oti 

conceive  that  an  erroneous  guide  is  worse  than  orthography,  how  much   more  diliicnlt  will  it 

no  guide  at  all  :  we  may  as  well  preserve  our  prove  when  we  cannot  open  a  dictionary  with- 

original  errors  as  to  discard  them  for  the  pur-  out  encountering  those  liorrible  clusters  of  con-j 

pose  of  adopting  others.  sonants,  which   orthocpists  have   collected  to-| 

But  even   admitting  the   possibility  of  con-  gethcr  for  the  sake   of  perpetuating  sounds^' 

veying  to  the   eye   those  delicate  tones   and  Thus  it  has  happened  that   these  erudite  proJ 

evanescent  sounds  which   are   perceptible   by  ductions  have  not  only  unsettled   our  pronunl 

the  ear,  whom   shall  we  take   as   our   guide?  ciatiun,  but  have  given  our  language  a  barbarl 

There  are   not  only  many  hundred  incidental  ous  appearance,  and  rendered  it  more  difficoll 

ditferences  ;  but  whole  classes   of  words   are  than  ever  for  our  children  to  become  acquaintej 

subjected  to  tlie  various  rules  of  our  standard  with  orthography.  i 

writers.     One  author  informs  us  that  the  final        I  would  not  have   it  thought  that   I  am  o{> 

y  in  wisely,  justly,  nohly,  truly,  and  all  words  posed  to  all  dictionaries  designed  as  helps  Ji 

of  that  description,  has  the  sound  of  long  e,  as  pronunciation  :  these   may  be  useful    in  regf 

in  7ne ;  others  give  it   the  sound  of  a  in  face;  lating  the  accentuation  of  words,  and  displai- 

and  others,  again,  acknowledge  that  it  has  an  ing  the   analogies  of  language.     I  will  cvh 

obscure  sound   of  its  own.     We  are   told  by  admit  that  it   may  be  desirable,  in   a  workof 

some  that  the  e  in  me,  and  the  t  in  mill,  have  this  nature,  to  have  some  ingenious  svstempf 

precisely  the  same  sound ;  others  contend  that  notation,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  the  t(fie 

they  are  widely  different.     Doctor  Ash  informs  and  quantity  of  the  vowels ;  but,  I  will  boMy 

us  that  the  e  in  the,  hero,  rebuild,  adhesion,  &c.  pronounce  that  the   practice  of  deforming  he 

has  a   sound  peculiar  to   itselt";   but  quite  dis-  orthography  has  been,  and  will  continue  toi)e, 

tinct  from  the   e  in  thee,  me,  &c.     Others  as-  productive  of  consequences  pernicious  toihe 

sert  that  this  is  the  height  of  absurdity.     But,  purity  of  language.  I  would  rather,  Piomiigo, 

Quicquid  delirant  reges  plectuntur  Achivi :  Tu^'Tu^u ^  ^^'^  °^  ^°'''  ^T^'"-^!"''"  '"^'"^ 

trie  Alleghanian  mountains,  than  be   stard  in 

While  the  leaders  contend  for  superiority,  we  the  face  by  words  so   tremendous,  so  horifble, 

are  led  astray  by  their  errors.  as,  tshooturidzh,  tshootelidzh,  tshoonaUe,  tfioo- 

I  know  a  young  man  who  was  particularly  mult,  ungtshoous,  spirittshoous,    nattshoral  ? 
attentive  to  pronunciation  :  on  every  doubtful  Yet  these   monstra   vocabulorum  horrendl  are 
occasion,  he   had   immediate   recourse    to  the  not  half  as   barbarous   as  some   that   my  be 
dictionary  that  happened  to  be  in  vogue  ;  and  found  in  Sheridan   and  Walker. — Woull  any 
having  discovered  an  odd   or  curious  pronun-  one  suppose  these  congregations  of  letterl were 
elation,  he  rejoiced  exceedingly,  and  took  care  designed  to  instruct  us  in  the  pronuncia^on  of 
to  introduce  the  word  into  every  conversation,  tutorage,  tutelage,  tunable,  tumult,  untuouSy 
But  by  the  time  he  had  made  himself  perfectly  spirituous,  natural?     Yet   such  is    th<  fact, 
familiar    with     his     favorite    sound,    behold  I  We  have,  in     the    established     ortho^aphy, 
another  dictionary  appeared,  more  fashionable,  strange  assemblages  of  words;  but  thisls  per- 
more  orthodox,  than   the   last;  and   infinitely  plexing  error,   and   rendering  confusiii  still 
superior  to  every  other  in  existence.     He  now  more  grievously  confounded.  I 
found  it  necessary  to  change  a  pronunciation       It  is  but  justice  to  take  notice  of  thi  many 
which  had  become   habitual,  and   learn  anew  and  highly  valuable  philological  remaifs  with 
the  pronunciation  of  his  fathers,  or  acquire,  which  Mr.  Walker  has  enriched  his  didionary, 
with  no  little  pains,  one  totally  different  from  and  the  judicious  rules  he  has  given  ff  deter- 
both.     He  informed    me  that  he  changed  the  mining  the   place  of  the  accent;  but  I   hope 
sound  of  the  o  m  bosom  four  several  times  in  the  pronunciation  of  the  people  of  th(j  United 
compliance  with  the    precepts  of  different  or-  States  will  never  be  regulated  by  his  aijthority. 
thoepists :    and,   at   last,   after  having    sailed  I  shall   hereafter  take   opportunities  to  point 
round  the  world  of  changes,  he  found  himself  out  what  I  conceive  to  be  errors  into  fhich  h( 
at   th^   place  whence   he   started.      From  his  has  fallen,  partly  from  his  mistaken  rations  a' 
nurse  he  learned  to  say  bosom;  from  his  school-  analogy,  and  partly  from  his  servile  (feferencs 
master,    buzzum  ;     from    Sheridan,    hoozum,  to  the  fashionable   corrupters  of  lanjuage  h 
sounding  the   oo  as  u  in  full  ;  from   Walker,  the  city  of  London,                                 i 
fcoozMWi,  soon  ding  the  00  as  in  «oo;  and,  finally,       Mr.  Webster  has  displayed  more  [learnirg' 
a  profound  critic  convinced  him  the  first  pro-  and   ingenuity  in  his  works  than  ajiy  othr 
nunciation  was  the  best.  American  philologist ;  but   he  appejrs   res)- 

One  great  objection  to  most  of  our  pronoun-  lutely  determined  to  maintain  all  (he  Nw 


83  THE  SAVAGE. 

Encrlatid  peculiarities   of  speech.     We  mijrht       Omne  vafer  vitiiim  ridenti  Flaccus  amicO 

nermit  )iim  to  say  (Za„o-er,s<rar7irer,  a-n{rel,  &,c.       Tangit,  et  admissus  circum  prajcordia  ludit, 

Lcause  in  tlicse  he    is   favored    by  analogy  ;       t^=i"'<^"«  excusso  populum  suspeadere  naso. 

but  we  can  never  allow  the  true  pronunciation  — but  here   the  titlepage  appears  as  a  rod  sus-^ 

of  propitiate,  annunciate, associate, officiate,  &!.e.  pended  in  terrorem,  not  to  deter  us  from  evil^ 

to  he propishate,  annHnshate,assushate,  offishatc,  but  to  frighten  us  from  reading  the  book.  The 

&c.     These  words  may,  for  any  thing  I  know  author  is  too  generous  to  attack  us  unawares  i 

to  the  contrary,  be   shortened  in   this  manner  he  wears  hay  on  his  horn.     Keep  at  a  distance, 

by  that   gentleman's  friends   in  Connecticut ;  ye  timorous  !  as  for   me,  I  will  Venture  to  ap- 

but  I  have  nev'er  heard  them  so  pronounced  by  proach  him  ;  «  and  if  I  perish,  I  perish.'  " 

iny  well  educated  American.     I  have  always        We  read  several   minutes  very  attentively, 

supposed  that  in  the  words,  christian,  hastion,  and  then  continued   our  observations.     "  The 

nixtion,  fustian,  &,c.   the   i    had   exactly  the  danger  was  rather  imaginary  than  real.     The 

jound  of  y ;  but  Mr.  Webster  informs  us  that  author  might  have  been  as  modest  as  Horace, 

hese  words  are  to  be  pronounced,  chrischun,  and  given  his  satires  the  name  of  sermones. 

aschun,  niixchun,  fiischun,  &,c.  ,-•.,•  .     .    r     .i-  •        i-  .    i 

T  1  »    1     1  *,«•■*.  „r  ,.„„;.....    Q  ud  dignum  tanto  ieret  hic  promissor  hiatu  ? 

I  have   not   had  an   opportunity  oi   paying    ^  o  f 

nuch  attention  to  this  author's  dictionary;  But  here  are  notes  !  Ah,  these  will  point  out 
lut  I  am  confident  that  his  spelling  book, which  the  latent  beauties  of  the  work;  these  will 
hs  a  very  extensive  circulation,  has  contribu-  elucidate  what  is  obscure,  and  explain  the 
td  greatly  to  viciate  the  pronunciation  of  the  mysterious  allusions  of  the  author. — But  why 
j^uth  in  the  United  StEtes.  It  is  much  to  be  should  a  poem  that  was  published  yesterday 
rioretted  that  he  is  so  tenacious  of  his  errors,  be  burthened  to  day  with  explanatory  notes? 
as  otherwise  we  might  culculate  on  his  labors  In  perusing  the  works  of  the  ancients  we  may 
bing  very  beneficial  to  his  country.  sometimes  derive  advantage  from  the  labors  of 

the  scholiast ;  but  the  manners  and  customs  of 

'  Satire  ^^^  world  have  not,  since   this  work   made  its 

..."  appearance,  undergone  any  changes  of  consc^ 

Does  there  not  appear  to  be  some  impropri-  q„ence.  Why  then  should  our  attention  be 
etiin  the  conduct  of  an  author  who  informs  diverted  from  the  poem  itself  to  the  lucubra- 
us  in  the  titlepage  of  his  book,  that  he  has  tions  of  a  commentator?  Any  one  who  is  de- 
wrtten  a  satirical  poem?  Would  he  not  act  sirous  of  displaying  his  erudition  in  this  way 
moc  judiciously  by  selecting  some  plain  and  \^,^^  nothing  else  to  do  than  publish  a  new  edi- 
inofensive  title  and  allowing  his  satire  to  be  ^■^^^^  of  Sliakspeare  enriched  with  additional 
disovered  by  the  reader  ?  The  word  satire  annotations.  It  is  true,  that  it  will  nut  be  easy 
in  Inglish  conveys  a  very  different  idea  from  ^^  pj^j  gny  word  of  the  original  to  which  he 
the  atira  of  the  Romans:  which  was  merely  j^j^y  append  observations  of  his  own  ;  but  this 
the  lame  of  a  miscellaneous  composition  in  gbould  not  operate  as  a  discouragement  on  the 
verst  When  an  author  boldly  and  dexterously  ,-,,;,-,  j  of  the  commentator:  for  it  must  be  a  coin 
lashc  the  vices  of  the  world,  he  is  accounted  a  solatory  reflection  to  him,  that  there  may  be 
satir««;  when  he  uses  ingenious  ridicule  as  such  a  thing  as  a  no^e  on  a  no<p,  a  wheel  within 
the  Hs^ns  of  making  men  ashamed  of  tlioir  ^  -wheel ;  and  that  five  hundred  notes  may  yet 
foUief  he  is  said  to  be  satirical ;  when  in  a  j,g  written  concerning  old  Vice  with  his  dagger 
strainof  delicate  irony  he  laughs  at  the  errors    gflafh^ 

of  his5pecies,  the  productions  of  his  pen  are  gy^  i^ese  notes  (may  I  believe  it  ?)  were 
justly  Icuominated  satires;— but  we  can  hardly  written  by  the  author  of  the  poem!  Lame 
suppoK  that  verses,  merely  because  they  are  poetry  indeed,  that  must  hobble  on  crutches  of 
ill  natired,  merely  because  they  declare  war  ^^ose  !  Has  it  not  been  an  axiom  as  old  as 
agains  the  vices  and  follies  of  men,  are  enti-  criticism  itself  that  a  poem  should  be  com- 
tied  to  he  appellation  of  satire.  j.]p,g  ?  tb^t  jt  ghould  have  a  beginning  a  mid- 

"  VViat  is  this  you  appear  to  have  been  die  and  an  end  '!  that  there  should  be  nothing 
'reading?     A   satirical   poem.      Well  I   must    deficient  or  redundant? 

give  it  X  perusal.  Doubtless  I  shall  find  a  The  notes  may  be  learned,  ingenious,  pro- 
?reat  display  of  imao-ination  and  genius,  since  found;  "but  this  was  no  place  for  these 
he  wribr  was  so  confident  of  the  merit  and  things."  Every  poem,  we  are  told,  should 
|ungen(y  of  his   remarks   as  to   think  them    be 

iorthy  ,f  the  epithet  satirical.     Yes  :  every simplex  dantaxat  et  unum. 

])rte  willsparkle  with  the  scintillations  of  wit,  Nq  j^^^n  should  make  allusions  in  a  poem, 
atd  eveiy  sentence  be  pointed  with  the  sting  ^hich  cannot  be  understood  without  explana- 
o!an  epgram.  However,  it  seems  a  little  sin-  ^ory  notes;  or  write  verses  which  he  finds  it 
gllar  foi  an  author  to  have  a  label  in  his  fore-  necessary  to  piece  out  with  patches  of  prose. 
lifad  will  this  inscription  "  I  am  a  fellow  of  jyjust  ^gt  a  poem  be  very  imperfect  which 
injnite  est,  of  most  excellent  fancy:"  he  stands  in  need  of  the  scholia  of  the  author,  be- 
sliuld  bave  that,  methinks,  to  be  said  by  fbre  it  makes  its  appearance  in  the  world  ? 
another.  What  was  the  character  which  a  Was  he  afraid  that  we  would  not  feel  the 
Rdnan  sitirist  gave  of  his  predecessor  ?  weight  of  his  poetical  remarks,  and  has  there- 


THE  SAVAGE. 


fijro  clifurced  Uiem  by  observations  in  prose  ?  knows   whether  our  addlepated   descendants 

Was  it  in  pity  to  our  ignorance  that  he   has  may  think  the  work  worthy  of  a  clavis  or  a 

subjoined  these  explanatory  remarks  ?     What  commentary. 

would  the  ancients  have  said  to  this  plan  of  Agjain  :  Every  poet  is  desirous  of  producing 

an  author's  furnishing  notes  for  his  own  com-  a  volume  ;  and  this,  I  assure  you,  is  a  matter 

position  ?"  of  considerable  difficulty,  admitting  the  verses 

"  You  appear,"  said  my  friend,  "  to  have  to  be  tolerable.  But  agreeably  to  this  new 
formed  an  erroneous  opinion  of  the  nature  of  plan,  nothing  more  is  necessary  than  to  write 
the  work.  The  notes  are  not  to  be  considered  a  few  jingling  lines,  and  attach  a  sufficiency 
as  mere  appendages  to  the  poem  :  far  from  it  of  matter,  in  the  form  of  notes,  to  swell  out 
—  they  are  an  integral,  and  indeed  the  princi-  the  book  to  a  respectable  size.  '  O  that  mine 
pal,  part  of  the  composition.  The  verses  may  adversary  had  written  a  book  I'  was  the  excla- 
bc  considered  as  a  cement  which  consolidates  mation  of  Job  when  he  reflected  on  the  evils 
the  discordant  matter  of  the  notes  in  a  bcauli-  ho  had  suffered  through  the  injustice  of  men. 
ful  and  harmonious  whole.  The  poem  may  be  Were  Job  now  alive,  he  would  think  of  some 
considered  as  the  spine  with  which  the  various  heavier  curse  for  his  enemies.  The  moderns 
bones  of  the  animal  are  connected.  The  lines  have  made  so  many  improvements  in  book- 
may — but  I  do  not  remember  any  thing  else  making  and  other  manufactures ;  they  have 
whieh  would  assist  me  in  my  illustrations,  adopted  so  many  labor-saving  schemes,  that 
Did  you  never  hear  of  a  statue  composed  of  the  prodnetion  of  a  book  is  no  longer  a  matter 
different  materials — ivory  and  gold?"  of  difficulty. 

"  I    have  heard  of  iron    mixed    with    miry  Thirdly  :  In  writing  notes,  a  man  has  it  in 

clay :  I  have  heard  of  the   following  supposi-  his  power,  with  very  little  trouble,  to  make  a. 


tion, 

Iliimano  capili  cervicom  pictor  equinam 
Jungere  si  volil,  et  varias  inducere  pliimas 
Undiquo  collatis  inemi)ris,  ut  tiir|)itcr  atruin 
Dcsinal  in  piscem  raulier  fonnosa  supurne  : 

I  have  heard  of  centaurs ; — but  this  literary 
monster  bears  resemblance  to  nothinnr  in  the 


great  display  of  his  reading  and  erudition.  He 
brings  forth  the  lumber  from  his  literary  ware- 
room,  and  astonishes  the  world  with  the  depth 
of  his  researches.  There  is  B«thing  however 
antiquated,  puerile,  or  ridiculous,  but  may  find 
a  j)lucc  in  the  farrago  of  his  book. 

Fourthly  :  The  attention  of  the  reader  being 


monster   Dears  resemoiance  to  notumn-  m  tne         ^-       n      i-      •  j  r         .1  1  •  u 

re  ,       -i  I     4i     CI     11      c.i  contmuallv  diverted  from   the   verses  which 

regions  or  tancv,  unless  it  be  the  ocylia  01  the  ■  *    .1  r  u        n  i        » 

^.  n/i-1.     I    c!-         1  fjive  a  name  to  tiic  ijcrtormance,  he  Will  beapt 

poets,  or  Milton  s  Sin,  who  ?  1     1   .1        ui      •  i  11  • 

•^       '  '  to  overlook  those  blemishes  which  a  more  cri- 

secmed  a  woman  to  the  waist,  and  fair,  tical  examination  would  undoubtedly  have  ex- 


Rut  ended  foul  111  many  a  scaly  fold 
Voluminous  and  vast,  a  serpent  armed 
With  mortal  sting  :  about  her  middle  round 
A  cry  of  hellhounds  neverceasinir  barked 
With  wide  Cerberian  mouths  full  loud,  and  rung 
A  hideous  peal. 

What  do  you  think  of  the  similitude  7  Were 
it  not  for  the  '  woman  to  the  vvaist  and  lair,' 
and  the  '  mortal  sting,'  I  wniild  say  it  was  an 
excellent  likeness." 


posed  : 

Fifthly  :  In  this  species  of  composition,  an 
author  may  not  only  acquire  celebrity  as  a 
poet ;  but  he  may  exhibit  liis  talents  as  a  wri- 
ter of  prose:  he  may  acquire  renown  as  a  critic 
and  philosopher. 

Sixthly  :  Who  has  not  heard  of  the  obscur- 
ity of  Pindar  and  Persius  ?     Had  these  poets 
explained  their  obscurities  in  a  series  of  notes, 
„  ,,        ,    ,,  ,    „       .  ,  ,. .      ,  every  note  would  have  been  a  treasure  to  pos- 

Search  the  poets,     said  my  friend,  "no  ^^^j^^      j^  -^  ^e  admitted  that  a  commentator 
onger  for  an  archetype  :  you  will  find  nothing   ,i^„^-,j  understand  the  subject  of  his  remarks, 
like  It    in  heaven  above  or  in  earth  beneath.      p^^mit  me  to  ask,  who  can  be  able  to  enter  so 
Saiira  tola  nostra  est,  was  the  boast  of  Quin-  fnlly  into  the  .meaning  of  a  writer,  as  the  wri- 
tilian  :  and  we  with  the  utmost  propriety  may   ter  himself? 

assert  that  this  new  species  of  composition  is  Seventhly :  May  not  an  author  of  genius 
wholly  our  own.  The  ancients  v,-ould  have  think  it  necessary  to  incase  his  poetical  gems 
derided  the  idea,  of  a  man's  writing  notes  ex-  in  substantial  prose  of  his  own  to  prevent  their 
planatory  of  his  own  composition, as  the  height  being  eaten  up  by  '  the  commentating  zeal'  of 
of  literary  absurdity  ;  but  we —  succeeding  annotators  ? 

,Ti      „     ,  ,  .  •  ,•  ,  Lastly:  Although  I  have  asserted  that  this 

Nil  intentatura  noslri  liquere  poets —  1  *       1       •  i  u         r 

'  ^  lame  poetry,  leaning  on    crutches  of  prose,  is 

we  have  opened  a   new  way  to   the  temple  of  a  modern  invention,  yet  I  have  no  doubt  that 

fame.     And  you  must  acknowledge  that  the  the  first  idea   of  this   species  of  writing  was 

sche'tHc  is  attended  with  many  advantages.  taken  from  the  satire  of  the  Romans;  or  rather, 

In  the  first  place,  it  may  be   observed  that  that  it  may  boast  the  same  origin    with  the 

notes  add  greatly  to  the  dignity  of  a  poem:  a  musa   pcdestris  of  Horace.     Now  tliis   satire 

work  must  be  important  that   attracts  the  at-  was  said  to  be  derived  from  satira,  cibi  genua 

tention  of  a  commentator.     But  if  these  anno-  ex  variis  rebus  conditum,  Angliee,   a  hash. 

tations  be  left  to  be  written  by  posterity,  we  But  the  Romans  always  supposed  that  this 

are  denied   the   happiness  of  participating  in  litrrary  repast,   however    multifarious  its   in- 

the  honors  conferred  on  our  book  ;  and  who  ^redicnts,  must  be  served  up  in  one  poetical 


yo 


THE  SAVAGE. 


dish  ;  whereas  the  moderns  prefer  bringing  it 
to  the  public  tabic  in  two  half  dishes  ;  which 
practice,  every  one  must  acknowledge,  adds 
greatly  to  the  vai-icty  of  the  tntjrtainment." 

ThougJits. 
Quo  me  cnnquo  rapit  tempestas  deferor  hospes. 

We  eannot  pretend  to  say  what  passes  in 
the  minds  of  civilized  men  ;  but  a  savage,  if 
there  be  nothing  to  call  forth  the  energies  of 
his  soul,  sinks  into  a  state  of  torpid  existence, 
in  which,  although  he  is  sensible  of  the  evils 
of  mortality,  he  feels  no  inclination  to  partake 
of  those  enjoyments  which  awaken  the  desires, 
and  call  forth  the  exertions  of  the  inhabitants 
of  the  earth. 

He  is  unable,  of  himself,  to  shake  off  this 
stupor  of  the  faculties  :  it  requires  some  unu- 
sual occurrence  on  the  earth,  some  strange  ap- 
pearance in  the  heavens,  or  some  violent  com- 
motion in  the  elements,  to  give  a  spring  to  the 
mind  and  break  up  the  gloomy  enchantment 

Heavy  black  clouds  rising  in  the"  west,  3,nd 
the  loiwl  rushing  of  winds  in  the  mountains, 
the  sudden  rise  of  rivers  and  the  noise  of  many 
waters,  cannot  revivify  the  mind  ;  but  they  lull 
it  to  a  state  of  pleasing  repose  and  banish  those 
feverish  dreams  which  accompany  this  restless 
sleep,  this  inertness  of  soul.  But  when  vivid 
flashes  of  lightning  are  suddenly  followed  by 
claps  of  thunder,  "  louder  and  louder  still" — • 
when 

Ipse  Pater,  media  nimborum  in  nocte,  corusca 
Fulmina  molitur  desira.    Quo  maxima  moiu 
Terra  tremit :  fugere  ferne  ;  et  mortalia  corda 
Per  gentes  humilis  stravit  pavor.    Ille  flagranii 
Aut  Atho,  aut  Rhodopen,  aut  alta  Ceraunia,  telo 
Dejicit — 

when  he  feels  the  rocking  of  an  earthquake  ; 
when  the  foundations  of  tho  world  are  shaken 
— then,  he  is  startled  into  Life,  and  enjoys  the 
pleasures  of  existence. 

This  disease  of  the  mind  has  sometimes 
been  relieved,  though  not  permanently  cured, 
by  a  total  eclipse  of  tiie  sun,  the  conflagration 
of  a  city,  or  the  sight  of  two  armies  rushing  to 
battle.  Any  thing  is  preferable  to  this  painful 
inertia :  better  to  be  "  chased  as  the  chaff  of 
the  mountain  before  the  wind,  or  the  down  of 
the  thistle  bofore  the  whirlwind  I" 

But  natijre  pursues  her  calm  unvarying 
round:  sha effects  her  sublime  purposes  with 
infinite  ease,  and  seldom  finds  it  necessary  to 
have  recourse  to  those  stupendous  exertions 
which  excite  the  fears,  awaken  the  wonder, 
and  elevate  the  feelings  of  men.  Her  unceas- 
ing operations  are  continued  from  eternity  to 
eternity  ;  and  cannot  be  interrupted  by  the  re- 
pinings  of  a  fool  or  the  ravings  of  a  maniac. 
She  is  never  in  haste  :  she  never  employs  more 
force  than  is  necessary  for  the  completion  of 
her  designs.  It  is  only  when  she  meets  with 
opposition  from  the  chaotic  tendency  of  things, 
or  the  stubborn  inertia  of  matter,  that  she  ar- 


rays herself  in  terrors  and  rises  up  in  majesty 
to  confound  the  opposers  of  her  power. 

It  is  little,  therefore,  that  man,  whose  dura- 
tion is  for  a  moment,  can  expect  to  behold  of 
the  magnificent  commotions  of  the  universe  ; 
yet,  of  such  infinite  importance  is  he  in  his 
own  estimation,  that  he  would  have  nature 
turn  actress  and  go  through  her  principal  parts 
merely  to  soothe  his  chagrin  and  dissipate  tlie 
vapors  that  have  risen  into  his  brain.  And 
when  he  experiences  any  uneasiness  in  his 
contemptible  microcosm  (which  is  said  to  be 
governed  by  laws  in  direct  opposition  to  the 
laws  of  the  universe)  his  heart  swells,  with  re- 
bellious indignation,  against  the  eternal  estab- 
lishment  of  things;  he  looks'  down  upon  the 
earth  with  contempt  and  abhorrence;  he  looks 
upward  with  an  air  of  defiance  ;  and,  in  a  mo- 
ment of  disappointed  ambition,  tliis  redoubtablo 
Sampson  would  take  hold  of  the  pillars  of 
heaven  and  bury  himself  in  the  ruins  of  the 
universe  I 

Proud  insect !  thy  rage  proves  the  truth  of 
the  proverb,  Inest  etformiccz  lilis :  thy  plea- 
sures and  thy  pains,  thy  sorrows  and  thy  joys, 
thy  hatred  and  thy  love^  thy  existence  and  thy 
non-exiatence,  are  of  equal  importance,  in  the 
empire  of  nature,with  the  troubles  experienced 
by  an  ant  in  rolling  her  burthen. 

Who  talks  of  the  dignity  of  human  nature  ? 
Man  himself!  He  is  the  lord  of  nature  :  the 
earth  was  created  for  his  use,  and  the  heavens 
for  his  amusement.  Comets  appear  predicting 
revolutioiis  in  kingdoms,  and  armies  are  mar- 
shalled in  the  skies  portending  the  destruction 
of  cities. 

We  have  extracted  the  following  parable 
from  the  third  book  of  Iddo,  the  Seer. 

"In  those  days  there  stood  an  ant-hill  in  the 
valley  of  Hobah.  And  it  came  to  pass,  that 
on  the  first  day  of  the  week,  in  the  sixth  month, 
and  on  the  sixth  day  of  the  month,  the  inhabi- 
tants of  t!ie  ant-hill  assembled  together  to  hold 
a  solemn  feast  in  the  presence  of  their  god. 
The  ants  desisted  from  their  labors,and  having 
purified  themselves  according  to  the  law  of  their 
fathers,  they  prepared  to  celebrate,  with  joy 
and  gladness  of  heart,  the  anniversary  which 
was  kept  in  iionor  of  the  day  when  their  em- 
pire Wu.s  established  in  the  valley  of  Hobah. 
But,  lo  1  at  tlie  time  of  offering  up  the  morning 
saciifice,a  whirlwind  passed  over  the  plain;  and 
after  the  wliirlwind,  there  weie  thunderings; 
and  after  the  thunderings,  there  was  an  earth- 
quake.  And  the  ants  were  sore  afraid,  and 
prayed  with  a  loud  voice,  and  cast  ashes  on 
their  heads,  saying,  Wo  unto  us,  what  have 
we  done,  tiiat  the  anger  of  our  god  is  kindled 
against  us  ? 

Then  stood  off  Basha  the  son  of  Bama  in 
the  midst  of  the  congregatien,  and  spake  unto 
the  multitude,  saying,  Give  ear,  O  ye  pismires, 
to  tho  words  of  my  mouth,  and  lay  up  my 
counsels,  in  your  hearts.  Ye  know  that  I  have 
given  my  days  to  study,  and  my  nights  to  con- 
tcmplatioa ;  that  I  have  obseryed  the   rising 


THE  SAVAGE. 


91 


*nd  the  Setting  of  the  sun,  and  the  various  ap  that  at  tlie  birth  of  common  men,  it  woald  be  a 
pearances  of  the  moon  ;  that  I  have  discovered  preposterous  thing  for  the  "  front  of  heaven  to 
the  nature  «f  the  firmament,and  considered  the  be  full  of  fiery  shapes"  or  for  the  earth  to 
course  of  the  stars.  Theretore,  O  ye  citizens  tremble;  but  at  our  own  nativity,  we  admit, 
of  Hobah,  and  inhabitants  of  the  aHt-hill,  attend  there  might  be  some  few  signs  in  heaven, 
to  the  dictates  of  wisdom.  When  your  fathers  some  little  commotions  on  earth,  to  mark  ue 
settled  in  this  valley  they  were  a  little  band,   extraordinary. 

miserable  and  poor  ;  but  now  ye  are  become  as  Who  does  not  suppose  that  the  order  of  na- 
the  sand  on  the  sea  shore,  or  as  the  stars  of  ture  might  be  interrupted  to  give  him  intima- 
hoavcn,  which  cannot  be  numbered.  But  ye  tion  of  evils  that  may  befal  him  ?  Who  would 
have  waxed  proud  and  have  forgotter»  the  pre-  not  suppose  a  squadron  of  angels  honorably 
cepts  of  the  law.  Know  ye  not  tiiat  our  fath-  employed  in  watching  his  motions  and  direct- 
ers  have  told  lis  that  we  should  pusii  our  ing  his  steps  ?  Who  does  not  think  himself 
burthens  before  ns,  and  not  drag  them  after  us  wortliy  of  being  \hc  peculiar  favorite  of  heaven? 
according  to  the  manner  of  the  heathen  ?  Yet  Who  does  not  conceive  himself  able  to  change 
notwithstanding  this,  O  ye  ants,  I  have  seen  the  unchangeable  mind  bj'  his  prayers? 
you  turn  your  hinder  parts  to  the  temple  of  But  whither  have  we  wandered  ?  We  have 
our  god,  as  ye  ascended  this  holy  mountain  followed  the  train  of  our  capricious  thoughts 
which  was  given  to  our  fathers  ;  therefore  the  and  lost  sight  of  the  object  we  meant  to  pur- 
lieavens  are  troubled  ;  therefore  the  sun  has  sue.  It  is  true  that  we  discarded  method,  in 
hidden  his  face  ;  and  the  earth  is  shaken  from  the  beginning,  and  proposed  to  make  an  ex- 
her  centre.  ciirsion  through  the  fields  of  imagination;  yet, 

While  he  yet  spake  there  came  a  wild  beast  it  will  probably  be  expected  that  we  should 
from  the  forest  of  Lebanon,  and  trod  down  the  presen'e  some  order  in  our  wanderings  and 
hillock." not  be  continually  changing  our  course  in  puf-. 

But  we  not  only  expect  that  the  heavens  suit  of  every  meteor  that  flits  through  the  re- 
should  be  disturbed  by  the  revolutions  of  em-   gions  of  fancy. 

pires,  we  expect  that  the  births  and  deaths  and  We  intended  to  have  taken  a  more  extensive 
little  misfortunes  of  mortals  should  be  preced-  ramble  :  and  we  now  see  objects  at  a  distance 
cd  by  terrestrial  portents  and  celestial  prodi-  which  we  would  willingly  chase  for  a  while, 
gies.     This  disposition  in  huinan  nature   is    and  then   desert  them  tor  others ;  but  as  we 


finely  ridiculed  by  Shakspeare. 

Glendwver.  Sit,  cousin  Percy ;  sit  good  cousin 
Hotspur: 
For  by  that  name  as  oft  as  Lancaster   j 
Doth  speak  ofyou,  his  cheeks  look  pal(»;  and.with 
A  rising  sigh,  he  wishetb  you  in  lieaven. 

Hotspur.  And  you  in  hell,  as  ol'len  as  he  hears 
Owen  Glendower  spoke  of. 

Glend.  J  cannot  blamo  him  :  at  my  nativity, 
The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes, 
Of  burning  cressets;  and  at  my  birth 
The  frame  and  huge  foundation  of  the  earth 
Shaked  like  a  coward. 

Hot.  V/hy  so  it  would  have  done  ,  ,.,.  ,,      ,  .,       -,.  , 

At  the  same  season,  if  your  mother's  eat  iz^a  lite  among  the  tribes  which  compose  our 

Had  kittened,  though  yourself  had  ne'er  been    now  declining  but   once  potent  confederacy. 

born.  The  arms  of  the  warrior  are  exchanged  for  the 

Glend.  I  say  the  earth  did  shake  when  I  was   axe  'and  the  hoe,  the  hammer  and  the  shuttle, 
born.  They  no  longer  climb  the  proud  mountains,  or 

Hot.  And  I  say  ths  earth  was  not  of  my  mind,    traverse  the  desert :  no— they  toil  with  the 
If  you  suppose  as  fearing  you,  .t  shook.  ^  ^^     ^^^  ^^^^^       ^,^g  ^^^-^ ,     ^.^^^^  ^^^ 

Glend.  The  heavens  were  all  on  rirc,  the  earth      „       •  .    .     r-  tj  i     j    .,*     „j 


are  apprehensive  that  our  readers  would  not 
choose  to  follow  us  in  our  fantastic  flig^it  from 
one  corner  of  the  world  to  another,  we  shall 
hasten  to  put  an  end  to  our  excursion. 

Savage  Correspondence. 
We  have  lately  received  a  number  of  letters 
from  our  J\luscoguIgee  friends,  which  afford 
us  very  little  satisfaction. 

The  government  of  the  United  States  has 
been  assiduously  attentive  to  the  business  of 
introducing  the  arts  and  improvements  of  civil- 


did  tremble. 

Hot.  O,  then  the  earth  shook  to  see  the  heavens 
on  fire. 
And  not  in  fear  of  your  nativity. • 

Glend.  Cousin,  of  many  men 
I  do  not  bear  these  crossings.    Give  me  leave 
To  tell  yoH  once  again,  that,  at  7ny  birth, 
The  front  of  heaven  was  fiiU  of  fiery  shapes.: 
Tiie.goats  ran  from  the  mountains, and  the  herds 
Were  strangely  clamorous  to  the  frighted  fields. 
These  signs  have  marked  me  extraordinary  ;  '-• 
And  all  the  courses  ©fray  life  do  show, 
lam  not  in  the  roll  of  common  men. 


propriated ;  fields  are  marked  out,  and  perma- 
nent buildings  arc  erected.  A  monopolizing 
avaricious  accumulating  spirit  has  appeared ; 
sordidness,  meanness,  selfishness  are  triumph- 
ant; freedom  and  virtue  have  vanished  forever. 
Personal  merit,  love  of  country,  and  a  thirst 
for  glory,  have  been  superseded  by  a  swarm  of 
civilized  virtues :  creeping  caution,  cringing 
servility,  specious  deception,  sly  prudence,  and 
squint-eyed  cunning.  The  line  and  the  rule, 
the  lock  and  the  key  have  made  their  appear- 
ance — have  made  their  appearance  among  In- 
— Shades   of    our   fathers  .'    spirits   of 


Where  is  the  man  who  does  not  think,  with    dians  I 
■Glendower,  that  he   is  not  on    "  the   roll   of  heroes  !    look  not  down  on   your  degenerate 
"ommon  men  ?"     We  can    all    readily  admit    children  !  ^ 


92 


THE  SAVAGE. 


Do  some  of  our  readers  wish  to  observe  that 
Christianity  will  bo  introduced  among  the 
heathen  ;  and  that  the  loss  of  a  savage  freedom 
will  be  amply  compensated  by  the  glad  tidings 
of  salvation  being  published  in  our  land  ? 

Yes:  ye  will  make  us  such  christians  as  ye 
yourselves  are.  Pretended  disciples  of  Jesus  ! 
shall  w^e  gain  by  the  change  ? 

We  have  likewise  received  a  series  of  letters 
from  a  Cherokee  warrior  :  some  of  which  we 
will  venture  to  lay  before  the  public. 

In  order  to  enable  the  reader  to  understand 
some  allusions  that  are  made  in  these  letters, 
it  will  be  necessary  to  observe  that  many  years 
ago,  our  warriors  took  a  number  of  Cherokee 
prisoners  ;  among  whom  was  a  boy,  who  has 
since  acquired  the  name  of  Chotahowee.  We 
were  at  liberty  to  determine  the  fate  of  one 
captive  :  and  we  made  choice  of  Chotahowee; 
who  honored  us  ever  after  with  the  appellation 
of  father. 

Chotahowee  can  express  himself  in  English 
indifferently  well  :  these  letters  were  dictated 
by  him  in  that  language,  and  written  by  a 
citizen  of  the  United  States  who  frequents  the 
Indian  towns  for  the  purposes  of  trade. 

In  preparing  these  letters  for  the  press,  we 
have  been  solicitous  to  retain,  whenever  it  was 
possible,  the  words  of  our  correspcndent  ;  and 
where  we  have  found  it  necessary  to  discard 
his  expressions  and  substitute  others,  we  have 
been  particularly  careful  to  preserve  the  mean- 
ing of  the  sentence. 

In  many  instances  it  was  altogether  impos- 
sible to  present  to  our  civilized  readers,  at  the 
same  time,  the  original  wofds  and  the  mean- 
ing intended  to  be  conveyed  by  them  :  the  al- 
lusions to  savage  manners,  customs  and  opin- 
ions ;  the  extravagant  metaphors,  wild  simili- 
tudes, and  abrupt  apostrophes,  would  have 
been  wholly  unintelligible. 

We  had  some  thoughts,  at  first,  of  civilizing 
the  language  of  our  friend  ;  but  we  soon  found 
that  it  could  not  be  done  without  destroying 
that  natural  simplicity  which  is  its  greatest 
recommendation.  And  we  have  consequently 
endeavored  to  pursue  that  golden  mean  (every 
good  is  denominated  golden  among  christians) 
which  is  so  highly  recommended  by  poets, 
philosophers  and  critics. 

We  shall  make  no  apology  for  the  sentiments 
of  our  friend:  our  readers  are  in  the  practice 
of  expressing  their  own  opinions  freely,  and, 
consequently,  will  never  be  so  inconsistent  as 
to  deny  that  privilege  to  others  whieli  they 
claim  for  themselves.  They  find  fault  with  our 
rudeness  and  barbarity  ;  we  blame  the  deceit- 
ful appearances  they  exhibit : 
—et  bane  veniam  petimusquedamusque  vicissim. 
We  shall  probably  be  blamed  by  posterity 
for  not  attaching  some  explanatory  notes  to 
the  obscure  and  curious  passages  that  may  be 
found  in  these  letters ;  but  we  will  frankly  de- 
clare that  we  thought  it  right  to  leave  many 
WnbigUQUs  expressions  merely  for  the  purpoce 


of  exercising  the  ingenuity  of  our  contempora- 
ries and  affording  employment  to  critics,  com- 
mentators, and  book-makers,  not  yet  in  exis- 
tence. 

The  clerical  gentleman  to  whom  our   cor- 
respondent has  given  the  appellation  of  Black- 
cant  must  be  highly  pleased  with  Chotahowee 
and  Piomingo  for  taking  notice  of  his  apostoli- 
cal  labors.     His  thoughts,  we  apprehend,  are 
not  wholly  engrossed  by  preparing  the  Indians 
for  the  world  which  is  to  come  :  if  we  be  not 
misinformed,  he  intends  to  establish  a  little 
Jesuitical  empire  in  the  Cherokee  nation. 
LETTER  I, 
From  Chotahowee,  a  warrior  of  the  Cherokee 
nation,  to  Piominiro,  a  headman  and  tcar- 

rior  of  the  Muscogulgee  confederacy. 
Fatlier  :  I  have  prevailed  upon  Oseii  John, 
a  beloved  white  warrior,  to  put  this  speech 
upon  paper  and  convey  it  to  you. 

Father  I  You  have  forgotten  your  friends 
and  your  country ;  Chotahowee  is  no  longer 
remembered  :  shall  I  also  be  forgetful  of  you? 
— When  the  sun  shall  forget  to  rise,  when  the 
wind  shall  forget  to  blow,  when  the  Tennessee 
shall  cease  to  flow  from  the  mountains  ;  then, 
will  Chotahowee  be  forgetful  of  his  friend ; 
then,  will  he  cease  to  remember  Piomingo. 

Father  !  I  was  painted  black  :  I  was  bound 
to  the  stake  ;  the  fuel  was  prepared ;  and  the 
flames  were  ready  to  devour  me.  I  had  made 
myself  strong  to  suffer  ;  but,  you  put  forth 
your  hand  and  preserved  me.  I  became  your 
son.  I  was  happy.  But  the  man  of  the  sor- 
rowful spirit  came  among  us  ;  he  turned  away 
your  face  from  your  friends,  from  your  coun- 
try, and  from  your  son  Chotahowee.  You 
gave  your  ear  to  the  wicked  talks  that  were 
written  in  his  books ;  and  forgot  the  beloved 
speech  of  your  fathers.  I  wept  when  I  saw 
that  your  rifle  became  rusty,  that  your  bow 
remained  unstrung,  and  that  your  arrows  con- 
tinued to  sleep  in  your  quiver  ;  I  wept  when  I 
saw  that  your  thoughts  became  deep ;  and 
your  face  became  strange  to  your  son  Chota- 
howee. 

Father  I  When  the  man  of  the  sorrowful 
spirit  died,  I  was  glad  :  I  said  Piomingo  will 
no  longer  give  his  ear  to  the  cursed  talks 
that  are  written  in  the  books ;  he  will  attend 
in  the  council,  preside  at  the  feasts,  and  listen 
to  the  beloved  songs  of  his  fathers.  But  the 
man  of  the  sorrowful  spirit  had  poisoned  your 
mind ;  your  countenance  was  sad ;  you  de- 
parted in  the  night;  and  we  knew  not  whither 
you  had  gone. 

Father  !  I  continued  a  long  time  with  the 
Muscogulgee  warriors  ;  I  procured  a  name  by 
my  abilities  in  hunting ;  and  was  honored  with 
a  crown  for  my  success  in  war.  After  which, 
I  departed,  and  came  into  the  country  of  the 
Cherokees,  to  the  beloved  town  of  Chota,where 
I  was  born. 

Father,  lend  me  your  ear !  About  sixty  or 
seventy  moons  ago,  there  came  among  us  o 


THE  SAVAGE. 


93 


man  dressed  in  blach,  with  a  booh  full  of  talks,  hk  spoech.     Then  the  he;ulman  of  Chota  arose 

He  spoke  to  the    people   at  first  with   a  very  and  said, 

smooth  tongue,  and  said  lie  had  brought  then  "  Brother  Blackcoat !    we  take  you  by  the 

good  news  from   the  great  spirit  who  rides  in  hand.     You  have   come  a  great   distance  to 

the  storm,  and  who  thunders  in  the  clouds  that  bring  us  good  news.     Your  talk  is  very  good  : 

pass  over  our  heads.  and  we  thank  you.     We  !iave  prepared  you  a 

As  we  are  always  pleased  to  hear  good  news,  lodging  to  which  you  may  retire  " 


and  were  not  without  hopes  that  he  would 
make  us  some  presents,  we  assembled  at  tiic 
townhousc  to  receive  his  talk  and  deliver  our 


But  the  man  dressed  in  black  with  the  hook  dwell. 
of  talks  in  his  hand,  would  not  come  into  the 
townhouse :  he  said  his  good  news  were  not 
for  the  chiefs  and  warrior.s  only,  but  for  all  tlie 
beloved  people  belonging  to  the  nation.  He 
went  into  the  public  square,  and  mounted  on  a 


Fatlicr,  farewell.  May  the  Master  of  our 
life  preserve  you  from  danger.  May  he  keep 
you  from  learning  the  crooked  loords  of  the 
smooth-tongued     people,     among    whom    you 


Chotahowee. 


The  Slate  Hov^e  Yard. 


Do  not  expect,  reader,  Lhat  we  are  going  to 
give  an   account    of  the    proceedings   in    tiie 


bench ;  but  it  was  not  sullicicntly  high  to  Statchousc  yard.  No :  we  merely  mean  to 
enable  him  to  overlook  the  assembly.  '  And  he  inform  you  of  some  oflho.se  savage  meditations 
therefore  desired  some  more  elevated  place  on  which  were  occasioned  by  this  assemblage  of 
which  he  might  stand.     I  sent  my  two  friends,    the  people. 

Bloody  Bear  and  Red  Jacket,  to  bring  an  empty  We  sometimes  walk  in  search  of  amuse- 
hogshead  from  my  liouse,  whicli  I  conceived  ment,  but,  for  the  most  part,  are  so  unfortunate 
would  answer  the  purpose  oi"  the  man  dressed  as  to  return  without  having  found  it.  There 
in  black.  is  such  a  lamentable  paucity  ot  unexpected  in- 

As  soon  as  the  Cherokees  of  Chota  got  a  cident — such  a  universal  sameness  reigns 
sight  of  the  hogsiiead  they  concluded  that  throughout  the  city — that  the  mind  becomes 
Blackcoat  had  brought  them  some  rum  ;  and,  torpid  for  want  o^  stimuli  to  keep  it  in  motion, 
consequently,  they  flocked  in  i'rom  every  di-  It  is  therefore  our  practice,  if,  in  our  peram- 
rection.  bulations,  our  ears  be  saluted   by  any  species 

Blackcoat  having  ascended  the  hogshead  of  uproar  or  noise,  immediately  to  repair  to  the 
with  his  hook  of  talks  in  liis  liand,  he  told  us  spot,  hoping  that  some  novel  appearances,  odd 
many  wonderful  things  which,  he  informed  us,  associations,  or  spirited  oppositions,  will  he 
might  be  found  in  liis  book.  He  said  tiie  exhibited,  which  may  contribute  to  our  enter- 
Great  Spirit  made  the  eartli  and  the  sun,  and    tainment. 

the  moon  and  the  stars  ;  and  all  very  good.  ^,  Well :  wc  were  moving  up  Chesnut  street, 
He  made  a  man  and  woman  out  of  clay  :  and  apparently  buried  in  contemplation,  but,  in 
he  put  them  in  a  garden,  and  gave  them  a  reality,  not  thinking  at  all,  when  we  were 
talk  ;  but  the  man  and  the  woman  forgot  the  startled  by  the  shouting  of  many  voices  in  the 
beloved  talk,  and  gave  ear   to  wicked   spirits    public  square. 

who  led  them  astray.  The  Great  Spirit  was  We  found  a  crowd,  noisy  and  restless  as  the 
very  angry,  and  drove  away  the  man  and  the  waves  of  the  ocean,  surrounding  an  elevated 
woman  from  the  garden.  Alter  this  men  be-  platform,  on  which  several  men  were  stationed: 
came  very  numerous  and  covered  the  earth,  one  of  whom  appeared  to  be  reading  certain 
Tliey  became  wicked, and  learned  the  crooked  resolutions,  to  which  he  seemed  occasionally  to 
ways  of  the  spirit  that  is  cursed.  The  Great  require  the  assent  of  the  multitude. 
Spirit  sent  beloved  men,  who  gave  them  good  The  man  on  the  platform  appeared  to  ad- 
talks;  but  they  turned  away  their  faces  and  dress  himself  to  us  as  well  as  to  tiie  others;  but 
persisted  in  evil.  The  Good  Spirit  sent  a  great  as  we  could  not  hear  the  purport  of  the  resolu- 
and  beloved  chief,  who  did  many  wonderful  tions,  we  neither  expressed  our  di.isent  nor  ap- 
things  ;  who  died,  and  was  buried,  and  rose  probation.  We  endeavored  to  approach  the 
from  the  dead.  scaffold,  in  order  to  understand  the  nature  of 

Father,  attend  to  my  words !  Blackcoat  the  subject  which  occupied  the  attention  of 
made  a  speech  very  long  and  very  curious;  the  people.  We  unfoitunately  succeeded  too 
but  we  could  not  understand  it.  He  told  us  well  in  our  undertaking :  we  advanced  so  far 
of  a  place  he  called  hell,  full  of  fire  and  brim-  into  the  crowd  that  we  found  it  almost  impos- 
stone,  which  burns  for  ever  and  ever ;  and  of  sible  to  return ;  which  we  were  much  more 
a  place  he  called  heaven,  a  very  fine  place ;. —  anxious  to  do  than  we  had  been,  a  few  mo- 
but  his  talk  was  crooked  :  and  we  could  not  ments  before,  to  proceed.  The  sovereign  peo- 
believe  it.  pie  paid  no  more  respect   to  a  Museogulgee 

When  the  young  men  discovered  that  the  chief  than  they  did  to  each  other.  We  were 
hogshead  was  empty,  they  arose  and  went  jostled,  without  ceremony,  first  to  one  side  and 
away;  and  when  the  chiefs  perceived  that  then  to  the  other ;  again  we  were  wedged  up 
Blackcoat  had  brought  them  no  presents,  they  immovably,  and  found  it  impossible  to  advance 
turned  away  their  ears  from  his  talk.  How-  or  recede.  "  Gentlemen,  let  me  pass — Do  be 
ever,  we  sat  still  and  waited  the  conclusion  of  so  obliging  as  to  permit  mc  to  passl"     But 


94 


THE  SAVAGE. 


we  miglit  S.3  well  have  spoken  to  tlie  wind, 
ari-d  addicssed  our  solicitations  to  the  tempest. 
Yet  tiiesc  people  call  themselves  civilized  ! — ■ 
"  Yes,  yes,  you  may  talk  of  your  sovereignty 
and  independence  as  much  as  you  please:  I 
should  foe!  myself  much  more  independent  if 
3  were  out  of  the  crowd."  We  prayed  to  the 
,2^ods;  but,  as  prayers  alone  are  generally  una- 
vailing, we  did  not  neglect  to  make  use  of  our 
personal  exertions  ;  and,  after  jjeing  shoved, 
pushed,  squeezed  and  bruised  fir  the  space  of 
fifty  minutes,  v.e  found  ourself  breathless  and 
exhausted  in  the  or.ter  skirts  of  the  assembly. 
We  then  very  devoutly  exclaimed,  "  Thank 
God" — but  we  were  rather  too  hasty  in  making 
our  acknowledgments;  for  a  brawny  fcllov/, 
in  the  act  of  huzzaing,  dashed  his  hut  in  our 
face. 

Wc  are  remarkably  mild  and  [inoffensive ; 
we  have  an  abundant  portion  of  the  "  milk  of 
human  kindness"  in  our  composition;  in  our 
intercourse  with  the  world,  wc  "  bear  our  fa- 
culties as  meekly"  as  though  we  were  not  a 
headman  and  warrior  of  a  great  and  indepen- 
dent nation;  we  are  harmless  as  '  p.  sucking 
dove;'  it  is  almost  impossible  to  irritate  or  offend 
us  : — but  this  insult  was  so  srdden,  so  unex- 
pected, so  violent,  that  it  elicited  a  few  scin- 
tillations of  anger. 

Wc  tumed  round  in  a  rage  upon  the  aggres- 
sor; but,  discovering  no  marks  of  respcciabUity 
about  him,  our  indignation  was  converted  into 
pity  and  contempt  "  Friend  I"  said  we,  "  why 
art  thou  so  outrageously  patrielio  ?  What  has 
thy  country  done  for  thee  ?  Does  she  give 
thee  food  to  keep  thee  from  starving,  or  rai- 
ment to  protect  thee  from  the  cold  ?" 

The  man  mutteied  something  which  we  did 
not  perfectly  understand  ;  but  as  he  did  not 
mean  to  offend  us,  as  he  appeared  to  be  rather 
unworthy  of  our  notice,  as  he  v.as  a  robust 
rough-looking  dog,  and,  as  v;e  have  heard,  that 
in  civilized  countries,  "  the  better  part  of  vdor 
is  discretion,"  we,  influenced  by  all  these  con- 
siderations, determined  to  take  no  further  no- 
lice  of  the  patriot. 

Having  extricated  ourself  from  this  difficulty, 
we  were  careful  to  keep  at  a  cautious  distance, 
lest  we  should  be  carried  once  more  into  the 
dangerous  vortex.  During  the  time  that  we 
buffti-ted  the  popular  waves,  our  attention  Vv'as 
wholly  employed  in  warding  ofl'  danger  and 
striving  to  provide  for  our  personal  safety; 
and,  now,  when  we  found  leisure  for  reflection, 
we  could  not  recollect  any  thing  we  had  heard, 
save  the  words,  honor,  independence,  dignity, 
sovereignty,  war  :  these  had  indeed  made  an 
impression  on  our  brain  that  was  not  com- 
;pletely  erased  ;  but  these  were  fully  sufficient 
M,o  affiard  us  a  subject  for  contemplation. 

Well  then. 

Honor  is  the  subject  of  our  story. 

What  is  honor  ?  What  is  national  honor  ? 
Why  do  these  people  talk  continually  of  their 
"djgnifry,  honor  and   independence  ?     Does  it 


arise  from  a  secret  consciousness  that  they  are 
destitute  of  dignity,  that  their  honor  is  tar- 
nished, that  their  independence  has  vanished 
forever  ? 

Captain  Bluster  boasts  much  of  his  honor, 
his  courage,  and  his  power ;  his  conversation 
is  full  of  swords,  pistols,  blood,  murder,  havoc, 
and  destruction  ;  yet  no  one  regards  the  vapor- 
ing cf  Klustcr;  his  threats  pass  by  as  the  "  idle 
wind"  which  is  not  regarded. — Captain  Blus- 
ter toill  notjigkt. 

Shall  people  who  continually  boast  of  their 
warlike  abilities,  who  continually  threaten  to 
overwhelm  their  opponents  with  war  and  de- 
vastation, yet  cautiously  refrain  from  carrying 
their  menaces  into  execution,  be  entitled  to 
credit  ? 

Miss  Tabitha  Testy  has  made  so  many 
false  steps  in  her  journey  through  life — has 
stumbled  so  often — has  fallen  so  repeatedly — 
that  her  moral  vesture  is  at  last  so  begrimed 
and  soiled  that  it  is  impossible  to  tell  what  may 
have  been  its  original  color ;  but  Tabitha  as- 
serts with  the  most  unblushing  confidence  that 
it  still  is  white  as  the  snow  which  is  driven  by 
the  north  wind  along  the  tops  of  the  moun- 
tains. "What,  do  you  presume  to  cast  any 
aspersions  en  the  spotless  purity  and  unsullied 
whitenecs  of  my  character  ?  Do  you  dare  to 
insinuate  any  thing  contrary  to  the  dignity  of 
TTiy  character?  I  would  have  you  to  know 
that  my  character  is  not  to  be  impeached  with 
impunit}' !  My  character,  founded  on]the  rocks 
of  innocence  and  integrity,  bids  defiance  to  the 
puny  assaults,  of  slander  and  the  impotent  at- 
tacks of  envious  malignity  !  My  character  is 
clear  as  'he  sun,  fair  as  the  moon,  and  terrible 
as  an  army  with  banners  I"  So  saying,  Ta- 
bitha walks  so  erectly,  moves  with  so  much 
dignity,  that  one  would  be  diverted  with  her 
petulance,  if  the  never-ceasing  repetition  of  the 
word  character  did  not  fatigue  and  disgust  us. 
f  Somebody.  VVhy,savage,  what  do  you  mean? 
Would  you  compare  the  people  of  the  United 
States  to  Captain  Bluster,  or  Miss  Tabitha 
Testy  ? 

Savage.  Why  not?  It  has  long  been  the 
practice  to  compare  great  things  with  small, 
for  the  sake  of  illustration. 

Somebody.  Are  we  not  a  free  sovereign  and 
independent  nation  ?  Is  not  that  an  established 
incontrovertible  fact  ? 

Savage.  If  it  be  so,  why  do  you  think  it  ne- 
cessary to  make  so  many  assertions  on  the 
subject? 

Somebody.  Because  we  have  been  treated  as 
though  we  were  slaves ;  we  have  been  con- 
temned, insult'cd,  abused,  for  a  series  of  years  ; 
all  which  we  have  borne  with  unexampled  pa- 
tience ;  shall  we  not  complain  of  these  grie- 
vances? shall  v;e  not  speak  of  our  sligiited 
honor,  violated  dignity,  and  outraged  indepen- 
dence ? 

I.  Savage.  Docs  a  man  really  courageous  boast 
of  his  spirit  ?  Will  a  man  of  honor  talk  for- 
ever of  his  refined  feelings,  correct  priuciplw 


THE  SAVAGE. 


95 


and  elevated  eentimentrf  ?  Complain !  shall  a 
higlmiinded  nation  complain  ?  If  this  be  the 
way  that  you  seek  for  redress,  you  deserve  the 
contempt  you  experience.  Complain  !  no  won- 
der you  are  treated  as  slaves.  You  defend 
your  sovereignty,  indeijendence  and  honor  by 
complaint!  do  you  ? 

A  savage  nation  manages  the  business  dif- 
ferently :  Our  warriors  in  a  hunting  excursion 
were  insulted  and  robbed  by  a  party  of  Chick- 
asaws.  We  sent,  and  demandcd  immediate 
restitution  of  the  property,  and  puni:5hment  of 
the  ni;)Icfactors.  Our  demand  was  disregarded. 
What  did  we  ?  complain  ?  No !  by  tlje  souls 
of  our  fathers,  no  !  we  burnished  our  arms, 
and  took  vengeance  ou  our  enemies  ;  we 
taught  tlie  robbers,  bij  our  deeds,  to  respect  the 
dignity,  honor,  sovereignty  and  independence 
of  our  nation.     Complain! 

The  sons  of  Alknomak  will  never  coini)lain. 

Somebody.  The  sons  of  Alknomak  are  sa- 
vages ;  wc  arc  a  civilized  nation.  They  are 
barbarous  pagans  ;  wc  are  polished  christians. 
Therefore,  their  conduct  can  never  seriously 
be  proposed  as  an  example  for  u;-.  Their  con- 
tests are  on  too  small  a  scale  to  bear  any  re- 
semblance to  ours.  What  comparison  can  be 
drawn  between  the  petty  squabbles  of  naked 
hordes,  and  the  mighty  battles  of  conflicting 
empires  ? 

Our  love  of  peace,  our  love  of  justice,  our 
humanity,  have  been  the  causes  of  our  for- 
bearance. We  are  not  cowards,  O  thou  ill 
natured  savage  I  we  are  not  cowards. 

Savage.  An  avaricious,  luxurious,  money- 
worshipping  nation  must  necessarily  be  cow- 
ardly.— Permit  a  savage,  an  American  savage, 
to  give  it  as  his  opinion  that  your  courage  is 
noise ;  your  honor — air  ;  your  independence — 
nominal ;  your  virtue— extinct.  Your  fathers, 
indeed,  possessed  courage ;  but  your  fathers 
were  not  so  liighly  civilized  as  their  patriotic 
descendants.  Yes,  your  fathers  were  courage- 
ous :  who  has  not  heard  of  Bunkers-hill,  Sara- 
toga, Guilford,  Eutaw,  and  Yorktown  ? — but 
your  fathers  were  virtuous,  patriotic,  just; 
when  these  heroes  pledged  their  fortunes,  lives, 
and  sacred  honor,  it  sounded  as  a  voice  from 
on  high  ;  but  you  ! — far  hence,  ye  profane  I 
Approach  not  the  temple  of  honor  I  Wealth 
is  the  god  of  your  idolatry  !  Ye  have  but  one 
motive  to  action — money-  Speak  rather  of 
things  ye  are  able  to  understand  :  of  the  estab- 
lishment of  banks,  of  the  price  of  stocks,  of 
policies  of  insurance,  of  ledgers,  bales,  ham- 
pers, counters,  the  art  of  shaving  notes,  and 
the  science  of  calculation. 

Your  fathers  were  independent :  one  of  them 
proudly  declared,  when  tempted  by  a  bribe, 
tliat  ^le  wealth  of  Great  Britain  could  noi  in- 
duce him  to  forfeit  his  honor  ;  but  you ! — your 
avaricious  desires,  your  luxurious  wants,  your 
commercial,  speculating,  degrading  pursuits, 
have  reduced  you  to  slavery,  so  low,  so  con- 
temptible, that  you  would  sell   your  country 


and  your  posterity  to  George,Napolton,.  or  the 
Devil,  in  order  to  gratify  your  sordid  propen- 
sities. 

Has  Britain  insulted  and  mal-treated  you 
ever  since  you  were  a  nation  ?  Did  she  hold 
your  frontier  posts  majiy  years  in  open  defi- 
ance to  positive  stipulations  ? — Has  she  cap- 
tured your  vessels,  impressed  your  seamen, 
murdered  your  citizens,  attacked  your  frigates, 
and  insulted  your  government  ?  Well :  what 
have  you  done'  in  the  mean  time  ?  You  have 
uttered  piteous  and  winning  complaints,  and 
sometimes  indulged  yourselves  in  ijdle  threat?, 
and  bo.asted  of  your  sovereignty.  indL'])cndence 
and  vulor  I  Is  this  the  way  to  be  respected 
among  the  nations  of  the  earth  ?  If  a  private 
man  should  act  in  this  manner,  would  iie  not 
be  universally  and  justly  despised  ?  would  not 
his  name  be  covered  with  obloquy,  and  his 
person  insulted  wherever  it  should  appear  ? 
would  such  a  one  talk  of  his  courage,  his 
honor,  his  dignil}'?  would  he  lay  claim  to  the 
character  of  a  gentleman  ? 

Somebody,  We  wish,  if  possible,  to  avoid  the 
horrors  of  war.  We  would  rather  submit  to 
many  indignities  than  bring  upon  humanity 
the  afflictions  of  war. 

Savage.  I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  calamities 
usually  occasioned  by  war.  But  when,  a  na- 
tion becomes  the  slave  of  avaricious  desires, 
nothing  but  some  mighty  commotion  can  save 
her.  Any  thing  wliieh  could  divert  your  at- 
tention from  your  present  pursuits, — an  earth- 
quake, lamine,  war,  pestilence, — would  be  a 
national  blessing.  Any  thing  tliat  would  de- 
stroy the  canker  of  avarice — any  thing  that 
would  mow  down  the  rank  weeds  of  luxury — 
any  thing  that  would  give  virtue  an  opportu- 
nity to  flourish — any  thing  that  would  present 
an  object  for  honorable  emulation,  would  be  a 
national  blessing,  VV^hen  a'  patient  labors  un- 
der a  painful  and  dreadful  disease,  any  change 
is  desirable — even  death  itself. 

We  tremble  at  the  evils  of  war,  because  they 
are  rather  uncommon;  but  we  pass  over  un- 
noticed the  evils  of  peace.  War  prevents  the 
human  race  from  sinking  into  tlie  lowest  state 
of  degeneracy  and  corruption.  War,  by  in- 
terrupting the  progress  of  civilization,  prevents 
the  extinction  of  virtue,  and  keeps  alive  the 
holy  fire  of  honor,  iricndsiiip  and  patriotism. 
Has  it  not  been  proved  tiiat  refinement  and 
luxury  increase,  with  unwearied  assiduity, 
the  vices  and  miseries  of  man  ?  and  may  it 
not  be  demonstrated  that  they  would  eventually 
destroy  the  human  family  from  the  face  of  tiic 
earth  ?  One  thousand  years  of  calm  uninter- 
rupted peace  would  nearly  depopulate  the 
globe. 

Somebody.  You  are  fond  of  paradoxes:  how 
can  war,  which  destroys  men  by  thousands, 
operate  as  the  means  of  their  preservation  ? 

Savage.  In  the  same  manner  tiiat  amputa- 
tion of  a  limb  may  prevent  the  mortification  of 
the  whole  body,  and  save  the  life  of  a  man 
who  is  wounded.   The  stroke  of  lightuiHg  that 


96 


THE  SAVAGE. 


kills  one  may  preserve  the  life  of  a  million; 
and  the  earthquake  wliich  destroys  a  city  may 
save  a  eontincnt  from  desolation.  War,  by 
arresting  the  progress  of  those  arts  which  bru- 
talize the  human  family,  may  stretch  out  the 
period  of  its  existence ;  but  the  time  must 
come  when  men  shall  be  Jio  more  :  and  their 
extinction  will  be  occasioned  by  the  progress 
of  civilization. 

Somebody.  Whatever  you  majsay,  I  cannot 
conceive  that  it  is  your  serious  opinion,  that 
civilization  is  really  an  evil. 

Saviiccc.  What  is  civilization  ?  It  would  he 
dillieult  to  give  a  satisfactory  definition  of  the 
term  ;  butv^hat  I  mean  by  the  expression  may 
be  easily  miderstood.  I  use  it  as  a  general 
term  to  signify  the  progress  of  society  from 
the  simplicity  of  nature  to  the  corrupt  and 
factitious  refinements  of  art.  Were  it  possi- 
ble for  all  mankind  to  partake  of  its  unnatural 
enjoyments,  it  would  still  be  an  evil ;  as  it 
multiplies  the  miseries  even  of  the  superior 
ranks  of  society  :  but  the  fact  is,  its  pleasures 
are  confined  to  the  few,  while  it  renders  the 
manij  poor,  miserable  and  wicked. 

It  is  true,  that  when  humanity  becomes  ex- 
tremely degenerated,  nature  generally  produ- 
ces a  fermentation  which  purifies  the  mass  of 
society,  and  throws  off  the  dregs  of  corruption. 
Men,  in  a  luxurious  age,  are  preserved  from 
total  annihilation  by  some  barbarous  convul- 
sion, some  savage  agitation,  some  tremendous 
commotion,  which  startles  into  life  the  palsied 
energies  of  nature.  But  still  something  is  lost : 
men  nerer  appear  to  regain  the  elevation  from 
which  they  have  fallen.  Where  is  the  north- 
ern hive  which  formerly  emitted  swarms  of 
haughty  and  restless  barbarians  ?  Where  are 
the  empires  of  Asia,  the  kingdoms  nf  Africa, 
and  the  millions  of  America  ? — They  arc  no 
morel 


Pronunciation :  from  Crito. 

There  is  a  great  propensity  among  the  vul- 
gar, in  Pennsylvania,  to  give  the  sound  of  oo 
to  the  diphthongal  u:  thus,  instead  of  blue  lure 
lute  luminous  due  duty  nuisance  nudity  numer- 
ous supine  supreme  tutor  tumor  tune  tube,  ^'c. 
we  hear  bloo  loor  loot  loominnus  doo  dooty  noo- 
sancc  nooditynoomerous  soopine  sooprcme  tootor 
tuomor  toon  toob ;  and  this  anomalous  pronun- 
ciation is  not  only  tolerated,  but  defended  by 
many  of  our  American  word-mongers.  Their 
orthoepical  canons  would  be  unworthy  of  at- 
tention, did  not  every  year  witness  the  emission 
of  some  five  or  six  spcUingbooks  under  the  au- 
spices of  eminent  booksellers:  these  produc- 
tions oj  genius  meet  with  a  ready  sale,  and  are 
dispersed  over  the  continent  to  confirm  old  er- 
rors and  propagate  new  ones.  Any  man  is 
supposed  to  be  qualified  to  write  books  for  chil- 
dren :  and  it  seems  to  be  altogether  forgotten 
that  these  children  may  one  day  become  men  ; 
and  that  errors  planted  in  childhood  are  not 
easily  eradicated.     NothiDg  more  is  necessary 


than  to  make  a  collection  of  words,  invent  new 
rules  for  the  division  of  syllables,  give  tabtes  of 
words,  the  same  in  sound,  but  different  in 
spelling  and  signification,  and  of  words  spelled 
in  one  manner,  and  pronounced  in  another,  not 
forgetting  to  add  a  compendious  systern  of  En- 
glish grammar ;  and  the^business  is  done.  Re- 
commendations of  sapient  schoolmasters  arc 
easily  procured  ;  nor  is  it  difficult  to  find  book- 
sellers sufliciently  intelligent  to  discover  that 
the  thing  may  sell.  These  arc  trifles,  I  ac- 
knowledge ;  but, 

ha;  nugae  seria  ducent 

In  mala. 
If  literary  men  be  honorably  employed  in  cor- 
recting a   vitious  pronunciation,    certainly  it 
must  be  commendiible  to  take  notice  of  those 
who  contribute  to  the  existence  of  error. 

Sometimes,  however,  we  arc  too  headstrong 
to  be  led  away  by  an  American  philologist; 
but  if  an  English  author  issue  his  mandates, 
who  will  refuse  an  immediate  acquiescence? 
Well  then,  Sheridan  has  informed  us  that  we 
should  not  say  toon  toob  tootor,  nor  yet  tune 
tube  tutor,  but  choon  chooh  chootor  :  and  thou- 
sands in  America  have  made  themselves  ridi- 
culous by  following  Slieridan. 

This  orthocpist  was  long  supposed  to  be  an 
infallible  guide  :  and  any  one,  some  years  ago, 
who,  in  this  wilderness  of  ours,  should  have 
had  the  presumption  to  oppose  his  own  ideas 
of  propriety  to  the  dicta  of  Sheridan  would 
have  exposed  himself  to  ridicule  and  contempt. 

But  Walker  has  appeared,  and  convicted  his 
predecessor  of  innumerable  errors.  Must  we 
revolt  from  Sheridan,  and  transfer  our  allegi- 
ance  to  Walker?  Certainly  :  Sheridan  was  an 
Irishman  ;  he  was  not  born  within  the  sound 

Of  merry  merry  Bow  Church  bells; 
he  had  noi  snuffed  up  the  smoke  of  the  British 
metropolis  for  a  sufiicient  length  of  time ; 
nor  had  his  ear  acquired  refinement  from  the 
harmony  of  London  cries  or  the  musical  voice  of 
the  cockneys.  But  Mr.  Walker-who  will  dissent 
from  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Walker?  from  the 
opinion  of  a  man  who  was  "  born  within  a  few 
miles  of  the  capital ;"  and  who  has  "resided 
in  the  capital  almost  the  whole  of  his  life  :" 
who  "  understands  the  tune  of  the  language  to 
which  the  ear  of  a  native  is  set;"  and  who  feels 
that  "vernacular  instinct"  which  prevents  the 
possibility  oferror?  What!  shall  one  bred  in 
the  wilds  of  Aaierica,  who  never  saw  the 
white  cliffs  of  Albion,  or  bieathed  the  sweet 
air  nf  The  Capital  ;  who  understands  not  the 
tune  of  the  language,  nor  feels  that  infalliable 
vernacular  instinct,  set  up  his  opinion  in  op- 
position to  that  of  Mr.  Walker? 

I  have  no  desire  to  detract  from  this  gentle- 
man's merits ;  but  I  have  promised  to  point 
out  certain  errors  into  which  I  conceive  he 
has  fallen,  and  to  show  that  the  English  pro- 
nunciation, taking  AV'alker  as  the  standard,  is, 
in  many  instances,  less  analogical  than  the 
American. 


THE  8ATAOE. 


«7 


Mr.  Walker  is  bo  fond  of  aspirations,  as  he  but  be  particular  to  pronounce  these  words 
■calls  them,  that  he  says  picA-c-ous  rather  than  thus,  merth  berth,  &,c.  Shall  we  leave  the 
piteous,  petch-u-lant  rather  than  petulant,  analogical  sound  of  the  «  and  the  y  which  is 
plench-e-ous  rather  than  plenteous,  &c.  This  habitual  to  us,  and  learn  the  anomalous  and 
is  not  only  contrary  to  general  usage  in  the  barbarous  pronunciation  of  Britain?  Who  eyer 
United  States  but  contrary  to  the  analogies  of  heard  the  word  vertue  in  the  U.  States  unless 
the  language.  And  this  eminent  orthoepist  is  among  the  lowest  of  the  vulgar  ?  who  would 
betrayed  into  repeated  inconsistencies,  by  his  dare  to  say  vergm  in  any  genteel  company  on 
attempts  to  establish  the  coincidence  of  his  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  ?  who,  that  has  any 
theory  with  the  polite  usage  of  the  British  me-  ideas  of  propriety,  is  heard  to  say  gerl  instead 
tropolis.  ofgirll 

Mr.  Walker  has  laid  it  down  as  a  rule,  that 


whenever  t  precedes  u,  and  the  accent  imme- 
diately follows  it,  then  t  preserves  its  simple 
•sound  ;  but  when  the  accent  precedes  the  t, 
then  the  t  is  sounded  like  ch:  consequently,  he 
will  not  agree  to  say  choon  choob  chooter  choo. 
mult  ckoonic,  &.c.  with  Mr.  Sheridan  instead 
of  tune  tube  tutor  tumult  tunic,  &c. ;  neverthe- 


LETTER  II, 

From  Chotahoicee,  a  warrior  of  the  Cherokee 

nation,  to  Piomingo,  a  headman  and  ioar- 

rior  of  the  Muscogulgee  confederacy. 

Father  !  Many  of  our  Cherokees  are  mad  t 
Blackcoat  has  taken  away  their  senses.  They 
less,  he  insists  upon  nachure  misforchune  for-  neither  plant  corn  in  the  fields  nor  hunt  for 
chune  virchue  ligachure  signachure  forfeit-  the  deer  in  the  mountains ;  but  spend  their 
chure,tcc.  instea.d  of  nature  misfortune  fortune  lime  in  singing,  shouting  and  weeping.  When 
virtue  ligature  signature  forfeiture,  &c.  they  pray,  they  fall  down  on  their  knees  or  lie 

This  monstrous  pronunciation  may  prevail  prostrate  in  the  dust.  They  hold  up  their 
in  Britain,  and  it  may  likewise  sometimes  be  hands  and  turn  up  the  whites  of  their  eyes, 
heard  in  New  England,  as  we  find  it  is  counte-  whining  and  begging  for  mercy.  Will  not 
nanced  by  Webster ;  but  I  will  venture  to  af-  the  Great  Spirit  diespise  them  for  their  mean- 
firm  that  it  is  not  the  pronunciation  of  the  well  ness  ?  Again  they  leap  on  their  feet  and  dance 
'educated  natives  of  the  middle  and  southern  furiously,  clapping  their  hands  and  singing, 
states.  And  it  introduces  such  horrible  irregu-  "  Glory,  Jesus  !  glory  !  glory !  glory  !"  What 
larity  into  the  language,  I  am  surprised  that  it  are  our  powwows  and  war  dances  ?  Nothing: 
should  be  advocated  by  any  one  who  mak«8  they  are  calm  and  tranquil  when  compared 
pretensions  to  literature.  That  it  is  not  uni-  with  these  christian  amusements.  They  say 
versal,  even  in  England,  appears  from  Scott's  all  this  uproar  is  occasioned  by  the  presence  of 
pronouncing  dictionary,  and  from  the  writings  a  good  spirit  in  theif  assemblies.  Would  a 
of  several  other  orthoepists.  good  spirit  make  peopSe  mad  T  would  he  take 

He  remarks  in  one  place,  that  "  if  we  ana-    away  the  senses  of  men  ? 

lyse  the  u  we  shall  find  it  commence  with  the        They   sing   songs  of  praise,  and   call   the 

squeezed  sound  of  e,  equivalent  to  the  conso-   Master  of  aur  breath  great,  good,  holy,  wise, 

nant  y.     This  produces  the  small  hiss  before   just,  merciful:  will  not  the  Great  Spirit  be  dis- 

taken  notice  of,  and  which  may  be  observed  in    pleased  with  their  flattery?   The  great  OEWA 

^he  pronunciation  of  nature,  and  borders  so    can  hear  the  thoughts  of  their  hearts  as  well 

closely  on  natshure,  that  it  is  no  wonder  Mr.   as  the  words  of  their  mouths  :  will  he  not  be 

Sheridan  adopted  this  latter  mode  of  spelling    angry  at  their  deceit,  fatigued  with  their  noise, 

the  word  to  express  its  sound."     N«w  if  this    and  turn  away  his  face  from  their  folly  ? 

sentence  have  any  signification,  it  mast  mean        Father  1    We  have   had  iso   rain   for   two 

that  the  true  pronunciation  of  nature  adven-   moons:  no  black  clouds  rise  op  in  the  west; 

ture,  &c.  is  nate-yure  advent-yure,  &c  ;  yet   nor  cool  breeze  passes  over  our  land.    The 

we  are  directed  to  say  nachure  advenchure,   springs  are  become  dry  in   the  heads  of  the 

&c.  We  would  desire  to  inquire  of  Mr.  Walker,   vaJleys  ;  the  earth  is  laid  open  with  drought ; 

if  it  be  possible  to  retain  the  diphthongal  sound    and  the  corn  that  was  green  droops  down  and 

of  the  M  when  the  <  is  sounded  as  ci-  does  not   is  withered.     Our  prophets,  our   priests,  and 

the  u,  in  that  case,  degenerate  into  oo  ?  holy  men,   wander   over  the  hills  muttering 

.,.         J    ,  J       •.     ,T  iwayers  to  the  spirits  of  the  air:  they  repeat 

AiiQuanao  bonus  dormitat  Homerus.  Ii    ■  j    i  ■     il  •  j 

H  xiu  uciu»  ^j^^^j.  g^pjgj  ^jharms  m  the  mornmg,  and  pow- 

Again  :  Mr.  Walker  lays  it  down  as  a  rule,  wow  at  the  close  of  the  day.    But  all  in  vain ; 

that  "  when  i  is  succeeded  by  r  and  another  they  cannot  awaken  a  breeze  on  the  river,  or 

consonant,  not  in  a  final  syllable,  it  has  exactly  call  ap  a  cloud  in  the  sky. 

the  sound  of  e  in  veimin  vernal,  &c."     There-  We  are  no  longer  the  beloved  people  that  we 

fore  if  we  choose  to   follow  Mr.  Walker,  we  were.     OEWA  has  forsaken  us ;  and  we  are 

mnst  no  longer  B&y  virtue  virgin  firkin  mirth,  no  longer   the   objects  of  bis   fatherly  care : 

ful,hut  vertue  vergin  ferkin  merthful.  We  are  when  he  returns  again  to  look  for  the  Chero- 

also  directed  to  say  merrh  mertle  mermidon,  kees,  they  will  not  be  found.    Once  we  were 

•&C.  instead  of  myrrA  myrtle  myrmidon,  <fcc.  a  powerful  nation :  our  warriors  were  terrible; 

And  we  must  no  longer  indulge  ourselves  in  our  hunters  returned  loaded  with  game ;  and 

iayiR^  mirth  birth  gird  girt  skirt  tDhirl  girl  ;  our  prophets  brought  us  rain  at  the  prooer 

M 


m 


THE  SAVAGE. 


•eason.  But  now  •  strange  people  have  cross. 
ed  the  great  water,  and  spread  over  our  coun- 
trj.  They  have  seized  upon  our  land  ;  they 
have  cut  down  our  woods  ;  they  have  driven 
away  our  buffaloes  and  deer.  They  have 
chased  u3  from  mountain  to  mountain,  and 
from  river  to  river.  Theyhave  surrounded  us 
with  their  cities  and  their  fields,  until  they 
have  left  us  no  place  to  which  we  can  fly. 
They  have  made  us  as  wicked  and  as  base  as 
themselves  :  our  old  men  are  fools  ;  our  war- 
riors are  cowards ;  and  our  young  men  are 
drunkards.  Our  war  dances  aie  neglected  ; 
our  sacred  songs  are  despised ;  and  our  holy 
feasts  are  forgotten. 

Father  I  Have  you  read  the  holy  hook  of 
which  the  christians  are  so  proud  ?  Do,  I  be- 
seech you,  take  out  some  of  the  talks  and  send 
them  to  me.  Does  it  not  give  directions  how 
to  make  gunpowder,  iron  and  rum  ?  Does  it 
not  teach  how  to  lie, and  to  steal,  and  to  swear, 
&nd  to  cheat  the  poor  Indians  out  of  their 
land? 

Blackcoat  affirms  that  the  book  teaches  truth, 
peace,  honesty,  kindness ;  but  this  cannot  be 
the  case,  or  we  should  not  find  white  men  to 
be  such  liars  and  villians  as  they  are. 

Father !  How  do  you  live  amid  the  smoke 
and  noise  and  stink  of  a  crowded  city  ?  Come 
to  us,  and  taste  the  sweet  breeze  of  the  forest : 
we  will  range  together  over  the  hills,  and  lie 
down  to  sleep  by  the  fountains.  Is  not  the 
buffalo  superior  to  the  ox  ?  is  not  the  fleet 
buck  more  lovely  than  the  goat  ?  and  is  not 
the  wild  Indian  of  the  mountain  ten  thousand 
times  more  noble  than  the  tame  man  of  the 
town  ?  Piomingo  I  come  away.  How  can 
you  be  contented  among  the  little  creamcolor- 
ed  raccoonfooted  maulfisted  bandylegged  big- 
bellied  stoopshouldered  hunchbacked  wry- 
necked  thicklipped  woollyhairod  bleareyed 
doubletongued  people  of  the  town  ?  May  my 
knife  become  rusty  if  I  do  not  pay  back  your 
white  friends  a  few  compliments  in  return  for 
those  they  bestow  upon  us  I  Shall  they  call 
us  savages,  heathens,  barbarians,  coppercolored 
brutes,  without  receiving  a  few  appropriate 
appellations  in  return  ?  They  call  themselves 
civilized!  Why?  because  they  are  crammed 
together  in  cities,  labor  like  brutes,and  burthen 
their  bodies  with  unnecessary  clothes  ?  If  we 
dwell  in  smoky  huts,  we  do  not,  like  them, 
live  surrounded  by  filth  and  inhale  the  thick 
odor  of  corruption.  We  do  not  eat  poisonous 
food  to  make  ourselves  sick,  and  then  eat  pois- 
onous physic  to  make  ourselves  well.  We  do 
not  wear  the  yoke  of  slavery  nor  groan  beneath 
the  lash  of  oppression.  We  do  not  live,  like 
white  men  and  fishes,  by  devouring  each 
other. 

Father,  attend  I  I  made  a  journey  last  year 
to  the  city  of  Washington  in  company  with 
several  headmen  and  warriors  of  the  Chero- 
kee nation  ;  and  1  made  it  my  business  to  pay 
particular  attention  to  the  appearances  and 
puriuits  of  the  ereamcolored  people.     I  was, 


at  first,  much  amazed  at  the  defonnity  of  their 
shapes  and  the  hideous  cast  of  their  counte- 
nances ;  but  I,  at  last,  catne  to  this  conclusion  : 
that  incessant  labor  ond  the  continual  practice 
of  deceit  had  deformed  their  persons  and  im- 
pressed on  their  faces  that  mixture  of  stupidity 
and  malignity  which  may  be  discovered  by 
any  attentive  observer.  Their  unceasing  ef- 
forts to  itnpose  on  each  other  has  totally  de- 
stroyed all  the  original  dignity,  candor  and 
simplicity  of  their  nature,  and  produced  a 
strange  composition  of  folly,  imbecility  and 
cunning.  They  hate  each  other,  with  the 
most  virulent  hatred,  yet  they  are  mutually 
dependent :  no  man  can  live  a  day,  scarcely 
an  hour,  without  receiving  assistance  from  his 
fellows.  Place  one  of  these  civilized  men  in 
the  desert,  and  he  would  be  as  helpless  as  a 
child.  Indeed  they  exhibit  in  their  conduct 
all  the  properties  of  childhood  but  innocence : 
they  are  made  miserable  by  the  Hiost  trifling 
occurrences ;  and  they  are  diverted  by  the  most 
insignificant  toys.  The  least  pain  imaginable 
occasions  them  to  utter  the  most  piteous  la- 
mentations  ;  and  they  are  convulsed  with  idiot 
laughter  when  there  is  nothing  to  excite  the 
merriment  of  a  man.  Wherever  we  came  the 
inhabitants  discovered  symptoms  of  childish 
curiosity  ;  our  persons  excited  their  awkward 
astonishtiTent ;  and  our  dress  was  the  object 
of  surprise  and  admiration.  Their  ignorance 
is  amazing  :  they  appear  to  have  no  know- 
ledge of  any  thing  without  the  bounds  of  the 
village  they  inhabit.  Upon  our  arrival  at  a 
tavern,  some  rustic  booby  would  be  sure  to 
proclaim  the  wonderful  intelligence ;  and  in 
less  than  five  minutes  we  would  be  surrounded 
by  thirty  or  forty  natives  who  would  regard 
us  with  open  eyes,  gaping  mouths,  and  the 
idiot  stare  of  mental  imbecility.  They  appear 
to  have  no  idea  of  politeness  :  for  if  they  had, 
they  certainly  would  not  treat  strangers  with 
such  glaring  indecorum.  But  they  are  not 
satisfied  with  gazing :  if  they  meet  with  tho 
smallest  encouragement,  they  will  proceed  to 
handle  our  arms,  ornaments  and  the  different 
parts  of  our  dress.  Luckily,  they  are  as  cow- 
ardly as  they  are  insolent:  for  if  one  of  us 
chanced  to  put  his  hand  to  his  belt  or  take 
hold  of  his  rifle,  the  whole  troop  would  start 
back  with  as  much  precipitation  as  a  man 
would  do  at  the  hiss  of  a  viper  or  the  generous 
defiance  of  the  rattlesnake. 

When  a  white  man  arrives  at  one  of  our 
villages,  he  is  received  with  attention  and  re- 
spect. He  is  invited  into  the  ne:  Test  hut,  and 
receives  the  food  of  friendship  and  the  calumet 
of  peace.  We  supply  his  wants,  anticipate  his 
desires,  and  vie  with  each  other  in  extendmg 
to  the  stranger  the  duties  of  hospitality.  When 
we  have  offered  all  those  refreshments  which 
his  situation  requires,  we  make  no  inquiries 
relative  to  his  business,  but  spread  a  couch  for 
the  weary  traveller  and  invite  him  to  repose. 
He  is  not  distressed  by  a  multitude  of  imper- 
tincnt  questions,  "  who  are  you  ?  whence  do 


THE  SAVAGE. 


99 


you  come  7  wliitlior  are  you  going  ?  to  what  the  clutches  of  that  horrible  devil,  of  which 
nation  do  you  belong  ?  what  is, your  business  ?  Blackcoat  has  given  us,  as  he  says,  a  faithful 
and  where  did  you  lodge  last  night  ?"     He  is    description  !  Farewell, 

not  incommoded  by  a  crowd  of  insolent  loun-  r-x.*™,  ««  . ..» 

gers  pressing  around  him  to  examine  his  per- 
son, his  dress,  his  arms,  and  accoutrements.  From  this  letter  it  appears  that  savage* 
When  he  has  slept  off  his  fatigue,  he  may  when  passing  through  civilized  countries  are 
walk  out  and  e.xamine  the  village  :  wherever  not  so  unobservant  as  is  generally  supposed, 
he  goes,  he  will  receive  the  salutation  of  love  It  would  be  strange  if  they  should.  Shall  they 
and  the  offerings  of  friendship  :  every  house  is  whose  senses  are  kept  in  a  state  of  vigilant 
open,  and  every  hand  is  stretched  out  to  re-  activity  ;  whose  welfare  and  life  depend  on 
ceive  him.  He  sees  no  fences  or  walls  as  im-  their  personal  exertions  ;  and  who  must,  ia 
pediments  to  his  progress,  or  bolts  or  locks  consequence  become  remarkably  attentive  to 
which  refuse  him  admittance.  passing  occurrences — shall  they  immediately 

Piomingo  !    Mark  the  contrast !  lose  tlieir  habits  of  observation  as  soon  as  they 

When  a  Cherokee  enters  any  town  or  vil-    enter  the  territories  of  a  polished  nation  ? 
lage  in  the  United  States,  he  is  instantly  sur-        The  natural  and  unavoidable  effects  of  civili- 
rounded  by  a  troop  of  ignorant,  insolent  and    zation  are  to  deprive  men  of  personal  import- 
malignant  boys  exclaiming,  "An  Indian  !  an    ance,  and  to  make  them  mutually  dependent 
Indian  ;  there  goes  an  Indian  !  Indian,  what's    on  each  other.    The  whole  society  is  possessed 
your   name?    Will   you  shoot    us,   Indian?"    of  strength  if  it  can  be  brought  to  act  consen- 
The  poor  Indian  distressed  with  this   brutal    tancously  ;  but  the  parts  taken  separately  are 
uproar  and   savage   persecution,  endeavors  to    contemptibly  weak  and  inefficient.     Men,  in  a 
take  refuge  in  the  first  bouse  he  can  find  ;  but    civilized  state,  are  not  allowed  to  exhibit  any 
admittance  is  sternly  refused,  and  he  is  rudely    characteristical  appearances  of  individuality  : 
thrust  away  from    the   threshold.     He   goes    all  distinguishing   prominencies   disappear  in 
from  door  to  door, but  no  one  is  found  disposed    consequence  of  the  continual  attrition  of  one 
to  shoio  kindness  to  the  stranger,  to  present  the    man  against  another.     In  such  a  state  we  can 
cup  of  refreshment  to  his  lips,  or  spread   the    do  nothing  but  what  will  interfere  with   the 
couch  of  repose.     The  Indian  sits  down  to  rest    actions  and  concerns  of  others  :  in  fact,  we 
on  a  stone  in  the  street ;  and  he  takes  out  his    have  no  longer  the  liberty  to  act  as  individuals, 
knife  to  terrify  the  ignorant  and  cowardly    but  as  members  of  the  community, 
rabble  who  torment  him.     At  last  some  one.        Whatever  inclination  a  man  may  retain  to 
in  whom  civilization  has  not  totally  extinguish-    promote  his  own  particular  interest,  he  finds 
ed  humanity,  approaches,  and   points   out   a    himself  utterly  incapable  of  effecting  his  pur- 
tavern  to  which  the  Indian  may  repair.     Here    poses  without  the  assistance  of  others  :  conse- 
he  gains  admittance;  for  the  devil  (Blackcoat    quently  he  must  resign  all  hopes  of  indepen. 
has  given  us  a  description  of  the  devil)  would    dence,  and  consent  to  become  a  member  oftha 
gain  admittance   if  he   name  properly  recom-    great  body  politic. 

mended ;  but  if  it  he  discovered  that  the  In-  Now  we  are  informed,  by  poets,  philoso- 
dian  wants  the  proper  recommendation-mon«y  phers,  historians  and  various  other  descriptions 
— he  is  hurried  with  precipitation  from  the  of  persons,  that  every  6ody  must  be  possessed 
only  place  that  offers  entertainment.  But  even  of  several  members :  there  are  head,  feet,  arms, 
the  tavern  affords  no  refuge  from  his  persecu-  thighs,  legs  and  various  other  organs,  all  form- 
tors  :  he  is  still  insulted  by  stupid  gazers,  who  ing  component  parts  of  the  same  individual 
distress  him  with  their  questions  and  devour  body.  Some  fill  honorable,  and  others  dis- 
him  with  their  eyes  as  though  he  had  fallen  honorable  situations.  Some  aspire  upward  to 
from  the  moon.  If  he  walk  out  for  recreation,  the  heavens;  while  others  are  pressed  down, 
he  is  not  allowed  to  enter  this  man's  garden  or  ward  upon  the  earth.  There  may  sometimes, 
that  man's  orchard.  He  is  continually  in  at  first,  be  a  struggle  whether  an  incipient  part 
danger  of  trespassing  on  one  fellow's  corn-  shall  be  a  hand  or  a  foot,  an  arm  or  a  leg,  a 
field  or  the  orchard  of  another.  He  must  not  nose  or  a  taH,  enter  into  the  composition  of 
pluck  a  flower  that  courts  acquantance  with  the  brain  or  form  a  portion  of  the  buttock ; 
his  nose,  or  stretch  out  his  hand  for  an  apple  but  when  a  member  has  performed,  for  any 
4U„«  I  iu-  ..._ii      pjg  j^jjy  j^^j.  jj^jjjjg    length  of  time,  the  duties  of  one  situation,  it 

becomes  altogether  unfit  to  undertake  those  of 
another.  If  we  assign  to  the  toes  the  function 
of  fingers,  something  may  possibly  be  done; 
but  it  will  certainly  be  very  awkwardly  peri 
formed.  Should  we  attempt  to  walk  on  our 
hands,  some  small  progress  may  be  made; 


that  hangs  over  the  wall. 

free  with  a  turnip  or  a  melon  in  the  field  ; 

and  is  hardly  permitted  to  cut  a  stick  from  a 

hedge. 

Father !  You  are  wise.  Tell  me,  I  pray, 
which  people  are  civilized, — the  red  or  the 
white. 


Father  !  I  send  you  a  very  long  talk,  and  I  but  what  will  be  the  consequence?     The  af- 

could  make  it  much  longer  ;  but  I  begin  to  be  flictions  of  the  degraded  members  will  be  too 

afraid  that  your  patience  will  be  exhausted.  dreadful  to  be  borne  ;  and,  the  whole  body  will 

Piomingo !  May  some  kmd  spirit  be  your  suffer  inconceivable  hardship  in  consequence 

patron  and  your  guide,  and  preserve  you  from  of  tho  unnatural  and  inverted  situation  of  th» 


100 


THE  Savage. 


part?.  High  things  are,  not  unfrequently, 
made  lota,  and  low  thino[s  exalted ;  the  Jirst 
may  sometimes  become  last,  and  the  lust  be 
made  ^rst;  but  whenever  this  happens  in 
civilized  society,  the  convulsion  is  tremendous, 
and  the  strength  of  the  body  politic  is  de- 
stroyed. 

This  story  is  trite,  Piomingo  :  who  has  not 
heard  of  the  rebellion  of  the  membeis  against 
the  sovereignty  of  the  belly  ? 

It  is  old,  we  readily  acknowledge;  but  our 
readers  will  be  so  good  as  to  excuse  us,  when 
they  consider  the  difficulty  of  producing  any 
thino'  new  :  and  indeed  we  have  heard  it  re- 
ported that  "  there  is  nothing  new  under  the 
sun ;"  all,  therefore,  that  can  be  expected  of 
us  is,  that  we  should  arrange  old  things  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  give  the  appearance  of 
novelty  to  our  production.  We  do  not  pretend 
to  create :  all  our  merit  eonsists  In  new  asso- 
ciations. We  do  not,  however,  at  present, 
mean  to  make  the  same  use  of  this  apologue, 
that  was  made  of  it  formerly. 

What  theu  ? 

Give  us  your  attention,  and  you  will  proba- 
bly discover  the  scope  we  have  in  view. 

In  the  first  place,  we  would  have  yon  ob- 
serve that  every  member  acquires  a  habitual 
aptitude  to  perform  those  offices  in  which  it 
has  been  long  and  constantly  employed,  and 
becomes  totally  unqualified  for  engaging  in 
those  which  have  been  assigned  to  other  parts 
of  the  body.     The  foot  becomes  suited 

— the  dust  to  tread  ; 

the  tongue  to  speak  ;  the  eye  to  watch  ;  and 
the  hand  to  grasp.  So  it  is  in  civilized  society  : 
the  lower  ranks  become  excellent  drudges ; 
and  the  higher  become  qualified  to  direct  the 
operations  of  their  slaves.  The  man  lo«ig 
employed  in  public  speaking  delivers  his  sen- 
timents with  fluency ;  and  he  who  finds  leisure 
and  inclination  to  improve  the  faculties  of  his 
mind  is  enabled  to  make  many  and  important 
discoveries.  The  sailor  can  manage  a  ship ; 
and  the  soldier  can  handle  his  arms  with  dex- 
terity. One  man  can  furnish  the  foot  with  a 
shoe  ;  another  can  accommodate  the  body  with 
a  coat  One  man  can  fashion  the  iron  on  an 
anvil ;  another  can  form  clay  into  bricks ;  and 
another  can  build  stoijes  into  a  wall.  Some 
handle  the  plane  and  the  saw ;  others  turn  up 
the  earth  with  the  plough  ;  and  others  fell  the 
trees  of  the  forest.  All  these  become  properly 
qualified  to  fill  the  place  they  happen  to  occupy 
in  society ;  but  become,  at  the  same  time,  alto- 
gether incapable  of  performing  the  duties  of 
any  other  situation.  Were  they  satisfied  with 
their  station,  and  were  the  order  of  society 
never  disturbed,  all  might  be  well ;  but  that  is 
not  the  case : 

Optat  ephippia  boa  piger,  optat  arare  caballus  : 

But  the  plough  is  too  heavy  for  the  Arabian 
courser;  and  the  ox  is  too  sluggish  to  go  under 


the  saddle,  to  follow  the  LouHds  and  second  the 
ardor  of  the  huntsman. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  proceed  with  this  enu- 
meration :  As  civilization  progresses  employ- 
ments at^e  more  and  more  divided ;  and  the 
operations  of  an  individual  are  circumscribed 
and  contracted. _  Personal  importance  is  con- 
tinually diminished ;  and  men  become  more 
and  more  disqualified  for  every  situation  but 
that  which  they  fill  in  society.  Mind  becomes 
less  and  less  necessary  to  direct  them  in  their 
pursuits  ;  and  they  approach  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  nature  of  machines. 

It  has  been  a  standing  complaint  against 
comparisons  that  they  will  not  go  on  all  fours : 
though  we  see,  at  one  glance,  many  points  of 
resemblance,  we  afterwards  find  others  that 
are  by  no  means  sufficiently  similar  to  answer 
the  purpose  of  illustration.  We  have  run  a 
parallel  between  the  body  of  an  animal  and 
civilized  society  :  and,  although  we  have  found 
a  striking  likeness  in  many  particulars,  there 
are  others  that  do  not  exhibit  simifitude.  The 
hand,  the  eye,  the  foot,  appear  to  be  desiorned 
by  nature  for  the  place  they  occupy  in  the 
animal  machine ;  but  in  a  polished  community, 
thoBsands  »nd  tens  of  thousands  are  degraded 
by  the  progress  o?  refinement  to  a  state  of  bru- 
tality, whom  nature  designed  to  be  men. 

Dr.  Franklin,  or  somebody  else,  has  given 
us  the  complaint  of  the  Left  Hand.  The  Left 
Hand  gives  an  account  of  the  neglect  she  had 
experienced  from  those  who  had  the  charge  of 
her  education,  and  of  the  unjust  partiality 
which  had  been  shown  to  her  sister.  Just, 
but  unavailiug,  was  her  remonstrance  :  the 
Left  Hand  is  still  suffered  to  grow  up  in  igno- 
rance ;  while  the  Right  (to  whom  nature  has 
not  been  more  bountiful  than  to  herself)  boasts 
proudly  of  her  cunning  and  address.  Such  is 
the  fate  of  men  :  probably  one  in  a  thousand 
has  the  opportunity  of  cultivating  his  faculties 
and  exercising,  in  their  due  proportions,  the 
powers  of  his  body  and  his  mind,  while  the 
nine  hundred  ninety  and  nine  are  compelled, 
by  the  absurd  and  unjust  institutions  of  so- 
ciety, to  confine  all  their  exertions  to  a  pnint, 
and  suffer  the  other  capabilities  of  their  nature 
to  lie  dormant  or  become  totally  extinct 

Well,  Piomingo,  so  it  ought  to  be :  there 
must  be  men  of  different  kinds,  suited  to  the 
various  grades  of  society  ;  and  their  education 
should  be  such  as  best  qualifies  them  for  the 
station  they  are  destined  to  occupy  in  the  com- 
munity. 

My  friend,  such  is  not  our  opinion  :  we  be- 
lieve that  those  regulations  are  cruel  and  un- 
just which  debilitate  the  body  and  cramp  the 
exertions  of  the  mind.  Can  that  system  of 
society  be  proper  for  man,  which  prevents  the 
development  of  his  powers?  Are  those  regu- 
lations well  suited  to  direct  the  conduct  of  a 
rational  being  which  confine  the  energies  of 
his  mind  to  the  making  of  a  hobnail  or  manu- 
facturing the  head  of  a  pin  ?  Can  a  beings 
possessed  of  reasoning  powers,  and  who  seema 


THE  SAVA(iii 


10! 


to  hare  been  designed  by  nature  to  vary  Iiis 
conduct  according  to  circumstances,  be  pro- 
perly employed  in  performing  a  few  ngcchani- 
cal  motions,  which,  becoming  habitual,  are 
continued  without  the  trouble  of  thought  or 
the  necessity  of  reflection  ?  Can  a  being  en- 
dowed with  mind  be  designed  to  stand  as  a 
statue  in  a  niche  of  the  great  building  of  so- 
ciety, without  the  power  of  altering  its  situa- 
tion or  changing  its  position  ?  Would  not  tljc 
constitution  of  society  be  infinitely  preferable, 
if  it  exerted  the  powers,  called  forlh  the  latent 
endowments,  and  added  importance  to  the  in- 
dividual ?  Is  it  enough  that  a  person  should 
become  a  necessary  member  of  that  greatest 
of  monsters,  a  civilized  community,  without 
any  regard  being  paid  to  his  ditrnily  as  a  man 
— to  his  perfection  as  a  rational  iifing  ? 

May  not  the  great  body  politic  sufTtr  a  dis- 
location of  its  parts?  May  not  a  thousand 
accidents  occasion  a  dissolution  of  this  unna- 
turally constructed  machine  ?  And  if  this 
should  happen,  the  disjointed  parts  are  mere 
inutile  lignum,  totally  unfit  for  any  valuable 
purpose,  but  exactly  calculated  to  produce 
anarchy,  horror,  destruction. 

From  the  foregoing  observations  we  infer 
that  those  who  fill  the  lower  ranks  of  civilized 
society,  however  necessary  in  their  places,  are 
less  important,  as  individuals,  than  savao-cs  ; 
and  we  also  inter  that  savages  are  better  quali- 
fied to  make  judicious  observations  on  passing 
occurrences,  than  are  those  who  compose  the 
mass  of  the  enlightened  population  of  the 
United  States. 

In  a  savage  state,  every  man  depends  upon 
himself:  he  erects  his  own  hut,  manufactures 
his  own  dress,  and  provides  for  his  household 
the  necessary  subsistence.  His  pursuits  are 
various,  and  well  calculated  to  gi»e  strength 
and  pliancy  to  his  limbs,  and  acuteness  of  ob- 
servation  to  his  mind. 

In  such  a  state,  no  man  is  compelled  by 
circumstances  to  become  the  foot  or  tail,  the 
drudge  or  slave,  of  the  community.  He  be- 
comes important  and  valuable  as  an  individual ; 
and  is  qualified  to  give  himself  protection  and 
support,  though  every  other  man  in  the  uni- 
verse  were  annihilated. 

We  sometimes  hear  savages  described  as 
timid  and  miserable  beings,  trembling  on  ac- 
count of  the  roaring  of  the  waters,  shuddering 
at  the  violence  of  the  storm,  and  struck  with 
horror  at  the  voice  of  the  thunder.  They  are 
represented  as  the  slaves  of  imaginary  gods, 
and  the  victims  of  visionary  dangers.  They 
are  said  to  fly  before  the  beasts  of  the  desert, 
and  to  quake  at  a  rustling  among  the  leaves  I 
SucKare  the  opinions  of  philosophers;  who 
reside  in  cities,  who  write  concerning  savages 
they  never  have  seen,  and  who  stigmatize  every 
nation,whose  manners  they  do  not  understand, 
with  the  name  of  barbarians.  But  where  are 
the  reasons  on  which  they  are  founded  7  Is 
the  man,  who  has  been  lonjr  accustomed  to 
eoitemplate  the  ragingf  of  tho  waters,  easily 


terrified  by  the  dashing  of  the  vyavi-s  ?  .S'lall 
he,  who  has  often  experienced  the  utmost  fury 
of  the  storm,  be  frightened  at  tiie  approach  of 
a  cloud,  shudder  at  the  flashes  of  lightning,  or 
tremble  at  the  rolling  of  the  thunder  ?  Shall 
he  who  has  become  acquainted  with  his  own 
powers,  and  has  been  taught  to  depend  on  his 
personal  exertions,  shrink  at  the  approach  oT 
the  panther  or  dread  the  howling  of  wolves  in 
the  wilderness  ?  Shall  he  who  has  been  tauo-ht 
to  meet  every  danger  with  courage,  and  to 
suffer  every  evil  with  fortitude-shall  he  shrink 
from  the  conflict  of  war  ?  No:  It  is  civilization 
makes  cowards.  Men  long  accustomed  to 
lean  on  each  othcr^  are  terrified  the  'moment 
they  lose  this  support.  The  least  derangement 
in  the  political  machine  drives  them  out  of 
their  places,  and  discovers  their  weakness  and 
personal  insignificancy.  Sliall  they  wlio  have 
never  learned  to  depend  on  themselves  face 
dinger  with  courage,  or  discover  resolution 
when  surrounded  with  unusual  occurrences? 

Our  triend  Chotahowee  observes  in  one  of 
his  letters  (which  we  have  thought  pro()er  to 
supi)ress)  that,  in  his  travels  through  the 
United  States,  whcn-ver  he  found  a  man  alone, 
that  man  was  civil,  quiet  and  timid ;  but  where 
he  found  an  assemblage  of  men,  they  never 
failed  to  be  noisy,  tumultuous  and  insolent. 

We,  savages,  delight  in  society  :  but  we  as- 
sociate as  men,  free  sovereign  and  independent 
We  are  not  bound  together  by  the  iron  bands 
of  necessity,  and  dcfrived  of  tlie  dignity  of  our 
nature.  Our  friendships  are  the  result  of  in- 
clination, and  not  combinations  for  the  propa- 
gation of  vice.  As  every  one  depends  on  him- 
self, we  have  no  motive  fto  impose  on  each 
other. 

Savage  society,  if  considered  as  a  body,  has 
no  members  condemned  to  drudgery  and  dis- 
grace, no  "  vessels  created  for  dishonor,"  no 
left  hand  uneducated  and  neglected,  no  broad 
flat  foot  condemned  to  trudge  under  the  weight 
of  an  overgrown,  corrupt  and  luxurious  belly. 
No  ;  like  Milton's  spirits, 

All  heart  they  live,  all  head,  all  eye,  all  eart 
All  intellect,  all  sense.-- 

Any  man,who  will  travel  over  this  continent 
and  attentively  observe  the  inhabitants,  will 
see  enough  to  corroborate  our  remarks :  he 
will  find  that  the  laborious  inhabitants  of  popu- 
lous cities,  though  expert  in  their  several  pro- 
fessions, are  unfit  for  any  other  employment 
but  that  which  they  pursue.  He  will  per- 
ceive that  those  who  labor  in  the  country  in 
the  vicinity  of  cities  are  rather  more  intelli- 
gent than  the  drudges  of  the  city  :  the  sphere 
of  their  operations  is  considerably  enlarged^ 
and,  consequently,  their  individual  importance 
is  increased.  When  the  observer  removes  to 
the  frontier  settlements,  he  will  find  man  still 
higher  advanced  in  the  scale  of  intellectual 
importance.  He  not  only  attends  to  the  com- 
mon business  of  his  farm,  and  prepares  subsis- 
tence for  his  family  ;  but  he  transacts  an  infi^ 


im 


THE  savagl;. 


nlte  varii'ty  of  business  :  he  makes  his  instru- 
ments of  husbandry  ;  he  is  frequently  his  own 
tailor,  siiocniakcr,  hl.icksniitli  and  carpenter  : 
l)is  employments  are  ever  varied  ;  and  the 
powers  of  his  mind  are  exerted  in  proportion 
to  the  muUi|>licity  of  liis  operations.  Must 
not  such  a  niin  be  infinitely  superior  to  one 
who  is  contiiiudly  cmpl.)yed  in  throwing  a 
shuttle,  threadinor  a  needle,  beatinir  an  anvil, 
or  even  drivinjr  u  quill  over  pirchmcnt? 

But  if  you  wish  to  have  a  still  more  favora- 
ble spf^eimen  of  human  nature,  you  must  take 
a  inunt  to  the  wilderness  :  you  must  study  the 
lan^ruafjes  and  customs  of  savages — hut  do  not 
condenm  before  you  understand. 

Story   Telling. 

It  requires  a  considerable  portion  of  inge- 
nuity to  tell  a  story  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
produce  the  desired  effect  on  the  auditors. 
Many  excellent  stories  have  been  murdered  by 
unskilful  narrators,  who  bring-  forward  the 
different  parts  at  improper  times,  introduce 
extraneous  matter,  dwell  on  trivial  incidents, 
and  sometimes  omit  the  most  important  cir- 
cumstances. 

A  man,  by  long  practice,  may  ne  doubt  im- 
prove his  talent  for  this  species  of  narration  ; 
but  we  are  inclined  to  believe  that,  unless  na- 
ture have  given  him  a  genius  for  the  employ- 
ment,  he  will  never  excel  as  a  teller  of 
stories. 

In  all  tales  of  a  comic  description,  the  nar- 
rator should  be  careful  to  place  the  ludicrous 
incidents  in  a  conspicuous  situation,  and  to 
exhibit  advantageously  t\e  point  on  which  the 
humor  of  the  story  may  depend.  For  want  of 
attention  to  these  circumstances,  a  jest  intrin- 
sically good,  instead  of  receiving  the  plaudits 
and  exciting  the  laughter  of  the  hearers,  has 
frequently  been  answered  by  yawning  and 
derision. 

But  it  may  also  be  observed  that  much  de- 
pends on  the  countenance  and  gestures,  as  well 
as  on  the  words,  of  the  speaker  :  We  heard  A. 
give  an  account  of  a  laughable  occurrence, 
which  had  lately  taken  place.  A.  was  reward- 
ed by  reiterated  peals  of  laughter:  every  one 
pronounced  it  an  excellent  thing.  Shortly 
after,  we  heard  the  same  story  told  by  B.  in 
nearly  the  same  words;  but  no  mirtli  was  oc- 
casioned by  a  detail  of  circumstances,  which 
had  lately  excited  such  high  merriment  and 
commanded  such  unbounded  applause.  We 
were  at  first  disposed  to  account  for  these 
dissimilar  effects,  by  reflecting  that  the  tale, 
at  the  time  it  was  told  by  B ,  did  not  possess 
the  same  novelty  that  it  did  when  first  deliver- 
ed by  A.  But  having  an  opportunity,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  weeks,  to  hear  A.  tell  the  same 
story  another  time, we  were  as  highly  delighted 
as  at  first :  nay,  we  thought  the  detail  more 
amusing  than  ever. 

What  were  the  qualifications  of  A.  which 
enabled  him  so  far  to  exceed  B.  in  telling  a 
JudicrouB  storj  ? — A   hooked   nose,  a  psaked 


chin,  and  a  bushy  pair  of  eyebrows  I  Let  no 
one,  whose  countenance  is  pleasing  and  whose 
face  is  symmetrically  formed,  aspire  to  excel- 
lence as  a  retailer  of  jests. 

But  all  stories  are  not  of  a  diverting  nature. 
To  many  we  listen  out  of  mere  complaisance 
to  the  speaker  ;  and  to  many  we  attend  for  the 
sake  of  a  little  sober  mformation  we  are  de- 
sirous to  obtain.  In  the  delivery  of  these,  any 
one  may  succeed  who  is  capable  of  giving  a 
clear  and  succinct  narrative  of  the  principal 
occurrences,  omitting  all  superfluous  explana- 
tions, and  the  tedious  detail  of  impertinent 
circumstances;  Few,  however,  are  the  number 
who  are  possessed  of  the  qualifications  we  have 
menli'ijied.  It  is  as  easy  to  find  an  epic  poet 
capable  of  producing  a  poem  that  will  fix  the 
attention  and  awaken  the  passions,  as  to  find 
a  man  who  can  tell  a  simple  story,  without 
introducing  unnatural  episodes  and  interlard- 
ing it  with  absurd  and  unnecessary  explana- 
tions. 

Dick  Gabble,  when  about  to  ride  into  the 
country,  declared  his  intention  of  being  in  town 
again  on  the  evening  of  the  same  day.  He 
did  not  however,  return  till  a  late  hour  on  the 
day  following.  As  there  had  been  a  consider- 
able fall  of  rain,  we  unfortunately  happened  to 
inquire  if  that  had  been  the  cause  of  his  deten- 
tion ;  and,  in  consequence,  were  obliged  to 
listen  to  the  following  elegant  but  tedious 
reply. 

Detained  by  the  rain  !  no  :  I  believe  not, 
my  boy.  I'm  neither  sugar  nor  salt :  the  rain 
can't  melt  me.  When  I  set  out  with  a  deter- 
mined resolution,  d'ye  see !  I'm  not  to  be 
stopped,  by  wind  or  tide,  d'ye  see  !  I'm  the 
fellow  to  dash  through  thick  and  thin — rain, 
hail,  snow,  fire,  or  water :  all  alike  to  me,  sir. 
Damnation  1  d'ye  suppose  I  care  for  the  rain  7 
If  it  was  to  rain  brickbats,  pitchforks,  hell  fire, 
and  millstones,  it  would'nt  stop  me.  I  rode 
sixty  eight  miles  the  coldest  day  we  had  last 
winter  :  a  hell  of  a  cold  day  !  Don't  you  re- 
member it  1  It  was  on  Monday,  I  think — no, 
Tuesday — let  me  see  :  On  Sunday  the  snow 
fell :  that  great  snow,  you  remember ;  on 
Monday  I  rode  to  Downingstown  ;  on  Tuesday 

to  Lancaster;  and  on  Wednesday yes,  yes, 

it  was  on  Wednesday,  I  am  certain  of  the  fact 
now  :  it  was  on  Wednesday. 

Well,  sir,  on  Wednesday  morning,  it  blcvir, 
and  snowed,  and  hailed,  and  froze  like  the 
devil.  I  opened  the  door  and  looked  out — by 
G —  I  was  frightened.  "  Damnation,"  says  I 
10  the  landlord,  "  Mr.  Touchpcnny  I  look  here, 
Mr.  Touehpenny  !  What  sort  of  weather  'a 
this  we  have  got  ?  Hell's  broke  loose,  Mr. 
Touchpcnny  !" 

However,  sir,  I  ordered  out  my  horse,  d'ye 
see  ?  "  What !"  said  Mr.  Touchpcnny,  "  are 
you  rnad,  Mr.  Gabble  ?  you  would'nt  think  of 
riding  such  a  day  as  this,  Mr.  Gabble  ?" 
"  Yes,"  say  I,  •'  I'll  go,"  says  I,  "  by  G — ," 
says  I,  "damij  me  if  I  don't"  says  I.  "Lord 
bless  my  soul,  Mr.  Gabble  !"  Bay*  old  mother 


THE  SAVAGE. 


luS 


Touchpcnny,  "  would  you  leave  d  good  convc-  board,  you    see;  :   I'll    bet   tlie   same  sum  over 

nient  house,  Mr.  Gabljle  ?  and  a  warm  fireside,  again — the  VL'ty  same  race — by  G —  I  will. 

Mr.  Gabble  ?  and  every  thing  comlbrtablc,  Mr.  "  But  all  this  is  nothing  to  the  purpose,  Mr. 

Gabble?  and  go  for  to  tliink  for  to  go  out  such  Gabble;    you    have   not   answered    my   ques- 

a  day  as  this,  Mr.  Gabble  ?    such    a   dreadful  ti-.m." 

day,  Mr.  Gabble!  My  dear  child,  you  can't  ^es,  yes,  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was:  it's  a 
think  of  such  a  thing  !  You'll  be  froze  up  alive,  good  thing,  a  very  good  thuig,  Piomingo.  I 
1  should  not  be  able  to  sleep  for  a  week,  if  you  started  off  in  the  morning,  you  know  I  did, 
were  to  leave  my  house  such  a  day  as  this,  quite  briskly — went  over  the  hills  in  a  jitfy — 
Mr.  Gabble.  You  can't  be  in  earnest,  Mr.  no  occasion  fb.(  whip  or  spur  to  my  black  Hlly. 
Gabble  ?"  "  I  have  said  the  word,"  says  I,  She  's  as  good  a  piece  of  horse  tlesh  as  ever 
"madam,"  says  I;  "and  my  word's  as  good  was  foaled — I'll  be  tee-totally  damned  if  she 
as  my  bond,"  says  I.  "  I'll  go,"  sajs  I,  ''  if  an't.  Slic's  a  hlooded  ihmgioo — oneof  Bona- 
ten  thousand  devils  were  to  rise,"  says  I,  "and  parte's  best  foals — out  of  colonel  Sport's  Fly- 
spurt  the  blue  blazes  of  hell  in  my  face,"  says  catch  r — desucnded  in  a  right  line  from  the 
I,  "  Tom  !  fetch  out  my  liorse."  "  Bless  my  prince  of  W:ilus's  Arabian  mare,  Camilla,  and 
stars,  Mr.  (jrabble  1"  says  Mrs.  Tnuchyjenny,  the  celebrated  Childers. 

"  you  are  the  strangest  man,  Mr,  (Inbhle,  that  "  Doubtless?,  the  line  of  her  ancestry  may  bs 

ever   I   saw  in   my  born  days,  Mr.  Gabble. —  traced  back  to  one  of  the  prophet  Mahommed's 

But,  my  dear  child,  you   shall   not  slir — I  in-  best  breeders.     But  come  to  the  point  Dicky  ; 

sist  upon  it — till  you  have  a  mouthful  of  some-  do  come  to  the  point. ' 

thing  to   keep  the   cold    from   your    stomach.  Yes  sir,  I  rode  like  a  whirlwind — was  up  at 

You  shall  have  a  cup  of  warm  cotfoe  in  a  mo-  the  Buck  in  less  than  no  time — had  my  mare 

ment,   Mr.    Gabble.     Molly,  fetch    in    break-  put  up  and  fed — always  see  to  ,jny  horse.     A 

fast."  man  that  don't  take  care  of  his  horse  should 

I  took   the  old   lady's  advice.     I  guzzled  a  be  damned.     That's  my  notion  :  ^what  do  you 

few  dishes  of  coffee,  devoured  a  few  pounds  of  say,  Piomingo  ? 

beefsteaks,  punished  half  a  dozen  of  eggs,  and  "  What,  damned  ?" 

was  off  like  a  thunder  gust.  Yes,   damned.     I'd  build   a  hell  myself  to 

,v  11     •      J,  •    9  u  r  1  ■  damn  him    in.     What !    not  take  care  of  his 

Well,  sir,  d'ye  see  sir  ?  before  sundown  sir,  !,„,„„,    „  ^  „ t        rpi     ,   ,  •    --j  ,7     V,. 

,,,'•'  ,         .     T  X  i_  liorse  1    a  savage  I    a   1  urk  !    an  infidel  — I'd 

and  that  very  same  day  sir,  1  was  at  home  in  ,„„  j  ■  ■  ,  .  „  .,i;.,„  .    *.  ^u  /■  i    i, 

Du-i  J  1  u-      •  1    .u  ^    •    1  ^'^"^  him  howung  to  the  north  corner  of  hel  : 

Philadelphia  sir — mark  that  sir  k„  ♦!,„       i    .  t         u    t   £-  "' 'i^y , 

^  by  the  god  of  war  I  won  d.  I,  for  my  part  sir. 


At  home !" 
At  home,  by  G — ! 
By  this  time,  as  our  readers  will  readily  be- 


upon  my  honor  sir,  would  rather  suffer  myself 

than  allow  my  horse  to  want  that  that's  ffood 
iiy  mis  time,  as  our  reaflers  will  rer'dilv  De-   ,„j  „„.^i' .»  ii«      th   „        *         •  ^ 

,.      ■'  1  J    i-i      •  1    J  ,,      ■  •'  ana  comfortable.     It  s  my  nature  sir,  mv  com- 

heve,  we  repented  of  havng  asked  the  impru-  i^^.te  disposition.     If  it's  a  w;akness,  I 

dent  question,  above   mentioned.     We,  there-  ^^„,t  h,,     ■, .  ^f^,^  ^^^^^^j  ^^  ^^_ 
fore,  endeavored  to  move  off,  merely  saying,       a  i  ^^.^  „^  ^^^^t  ^f  your  humanity ;  but  I 
as  we  started    "Dick,  you  are  a  man  ot  reso-    beseech  thee   Dick,  dispense  with  these  colla- 
lution.     Good  bye.       But  our  manoeuvre  was   jerial  circumstances,  and  proceed  with  your 
unsuccessful :  as  soon  as  he  perceived  our  in-   gt^fy  "  ^  j 

tention  of  decamping  he  seized  us  by  the  arm;  yes  sir,  O  yes :  certainly  I  shall  proceed 
saymg,  "Sfop,sir,Ihavenotyettoldyouhow  jji  i  ,,,^^,1  ^e  done  in  a  few  minutes. 
I  was  detained  ye«terday-a  damned  good  Having  disposed  of  my  horse  sir,  I  proceeded 
thing-make  you  laugh  like  the  dev.l."  immediately  to  business,  and-a  and  a  and  had 

"  True  sir,  I  had  forgotten  :  please  to  pro-   every  thing  concluded  in  a  very  litttle  time, 
ceed."  Well  sir,  just  as  I  was  preparing  to  return 

Well  sir,  so  it  was  sir,  yesterday  morning,   home,  who  should   come  in   but  Bob  Jockey. 
I  set  off:  you  saw  me  set  oiF.     A  very  plea-   You  know  Bob? 
sant   morning — high    spirits.     Always   am —       "  No." 

always  am  in  high  spirits — take  the  world  easy  Damn  it,  you  must  know  him,  if  you  were 
— laugh  and  grow  fat.  It's  the  best  way —  ever  in  that  neighborhood  :  he's  a  stoopshould- 
a'nt  it  Piomingo?  Damn  me  if  I  don't  think  ^red,  thickset;  crosslooking  little  devil — has 
it  is.  Nothing  troubles  me,  hardly  :  I  was  a  little  gray  eyes,  Roman  noso,  and  a  hell  of  a 
little  fretted,  to  be  sure,  when  I  lost  that  race  bigf  mouth.  He  married  old  Stump's  daughter 
on  the  Hummingbird — five  hundred  dollars  at  — a  cursed  old  miser,  that  Stump.  If  you 
one  slap — a  damned  hard  stroke  that,  Pio-  were  to  see  him,  you  would  think  he  wasn't 
mingo.  A  few  such  swings  as  that  would  worth  a  cent — looks  like  a  beggar — lives  like 
fetch  Jack — damme  if  'twouldn't,  d'ye  see  ?  a  hog — <kmned  old  brute — rich  though — rich 
Well^  upon  my  soul,  I  never  could  understand  as  a  Jew — wish  he  was  in  Abraham's  bosom, 
that  business  perfectly.  I  still  think  that  the  and  1  had  the  cash.  When  Bob  Jockey  nabbed 
Hummingbird  can  beat  old  Turf's  mare — by  Peggy  Stump,  he  thought  he  had  made  a 
the  Lord  I  do.  I'll  bet  the  same  money  over  speck,  d'ye  sec  ? — thought  to  finger  some  of 
again — have  every  thing  fair — have  good  the  old  man's  ready.  But  let  old  Stump  alone 
judges,  you  see,  and  every  thing  fair  and  above  for  that :  he'll  take  care  of  number  one,  d'ye 


104 


THE  KAVAGK. 


i!ee?  Bob  gtit  a  wife:  ar-d  that's  all.  She's  a 
sweet  girl  though — loves  to  be  squeezed  damna- 
\^\y — used  to  squeeze  her  myself — kissed  her 
before  ever  Bob  did — shouldn't  mind  it  now  if 
I  h:id  an  opportunity.  Old  Stump  luid  seven 
d.iu^rhters — line  gills — slippery  jades  some  of 
tliom — all  married  but  one — she's  the  oldest — 
wrinkled  as  a  witeh — eross  as  damnation — 
knows  she  must  lend  apes  in  hell — 'fond  of  cats 
now — eats  fond  of  her  ton — birds  of  a  featiier 
— Zounds  I  how  I  used  to  romp  with  these  girls 
— can  tell  you  a  damned  good  story  about  one 
of  them  :  One  day 

"O  curse  the  story,"  cried  we,  quite  ex- 
hausted, "  will  you  never  have  done  with  old 
Stump  and  his  dauirhters  ?  But  Dick,  my 
dear  fellow,  you  must  excuse  me  at  present. 
Some  other  time  I  will  hear  the  rest  of  your 
adventures :  this  evening  I  am  particularly 
engaged."  But  Gabble  seized  us  by  the  breast 
of  our  coat  and  swore  bitterly  wc  should  not 
move  till  he  had  finished  his  story. 

The  gods  themselves,  some  ancient  writer 
observes,  are  subject  to  necessity  :  and  a  sa- 
vage, 

—  magna  si  lieet  componere  parvis  — 

who  resides  in  a  civilized  country,  must  learn 
to  dissemble  his  feelings,  and  wear  a  smile  on 
his  countenance  while  anguish  preys  on  his 
heart.  We  saw  the  necessity  of  yielding  to 
circumstances,  but  could  not  forbear  exclaim- 
ing in  the  words  of  Horace  when  persecuted 
by  an  impudent  babbler  in  the  streets  of 
Rome  : 

Iluccine  solern 
Tam  nigrum  surrexe  mihi! 

But  we  reflected  on  a  saying  of  Socrates,when 
tormented  by  the  humors  of  his  termagant 
wife:  "We  all  have  our  respective  misfor- 
tunes ;  and  he  is  a  happy  man  who  can  com- 
plain of  none  greater  than  this."  Having  thus 
sagaciously  subdued  our  rising  emotions,  we 
requested  little  Gabble  to  finish  the  recital  of 
his  adventures. 

So  sir,  as  I  was  preparing  to  come  away, 
Bob  Jockey  made  his  appearance.  Nothavino- 
«een  each  other  for  some  months,we  conversed 
•a  few  minutes  on  various  matters.  He  told 
me  that  a  mad  dog  had  bitten  several  of  his 
cattle,  and 

'•  Never  mind  the  mad  dog.  If  you  wander 
so  often  from  the  track,  you  never  will  arrive 
at  the  end  of  your  journey." 

Faith  sir,  the  story  about  the  dog  is  a  very 
curious  story,  and  ought  to  be  universally 
known  ;  but  I'll  pass  it  over  for  the  present. 
Well  sir.  Bob  called  for  a  glass  of  brandy  and 
■water,  and  asked  me  t6  drink,  you  see.  I 
■complied  :  for  I  like  to  be  social  and  friendly  : 
<ion't  you,  Piomingo  ? 

"  Yes.     Proceed." 

When  we  had  finished  the  glass,  I  called  for 
another — I  couldn't  be  worse  than  a  bad  fellow, 
you  668— no,  no,  that  would  never  do:  one 


good  tui  n  deserves  another.  Dick  Gabble  will 
pay  his  part  wherever  he  goes.  I  hate  a  sneak- 
ing sponging  devil :  don't  you,  Piomingo  ? 

'•Certainly.     Proceed." 

Well  sir,  we  had  three  or  four  glasses — I 
don't  exactly  remember  how  many  though — 
probably  half  a  dozen — say  half  a  dozen  glass- 
es, f-ct  me  see — first  he  had  one,  than  I  had 
another,  and • 

"  Never  mind  :  say  half  a  dozen." 

Very  well  sir  :  we'll  say  half  a  dozen.  And 
so  sir,  by  this  time  you  see  sir,  we  grew  pretty 
warm,  you  see  ;  and  Bob  began  to  brag  of  his 
horses.  Bob  has  some  little  knowledge  of  horse 
flesh — iK)t  much  though — knows  enough  to  be 
roguish — would  be  a  danmed  rogue  if  he  could. 
"Theie's  my  little  horse  at  the  gate,"  says 
Bob,  says  he,  "  he  can  beat  any  thing,  for  a 
quarter,  in  the  thirteen  United  States  of  Penn- 
sylvania, carry  weight  for  size,  I'll  be  dee- 
doiibly  damned  if  he  can't."  "I'll  run  you," 
says  I,  "  a  quarter,  my  black  filly  against  your 
horse,  for  five  dollars,  not  if  you  will,  but  if 
you  dare,"  says  I.  "Done,"  says  he,  you  carry 
a  hundred  weight  to  a  catch."  "A  catch, 
upon  each,"  says  I,  "smack  my  hand  if  you 
dare."  "  Done."  says  he,  "  by  G — ,"  says  he, 
— "  poney  down  your  dust — •fetch  out  your 
mare."  "  Done,"  says  I,  "hell  to  the  flincher." 
Out  to  the  race  ground — every  thing  ready — 
judges  appointed — go — "  The  black  filly  had 
tlie  start,"  says  one, — "  The  horse  gains,"  says 
another — "  Ten  dollars  on  the  horse,"  says 
Tom  Stubbs ;  "  say  done,  and  it's  a  bet." — 
"  Done,"  says  Bill  Grubb,  "  If  I  don't  win  I'll 
be  damned."  "She  handles  her  feet  daeently" 
says  Paddy  O'Blather. — "Two  to  one  on  the 
mare,"  says  young  Dobbins,  "  two  to  one  on 
the  mare.  I'll  give  you  two  hundred  dollars 
for  the  black  fiily.  Gabble — 'Gad  she's  foremost 
— let's  go  and  see  how  it  is."  "  Judges,  how 
is  the  race  ?"  "  The  filly  came  out  first." 
"  How  much  ?"  "  A  length."  "  She  had  the 
start,"  saj's  Bob.  "  Only  a  neck,"  says  I ; 
"but  let  the  judges  determine;  we  have  no|  ^ 
thing  to  say  in  the  business,"  says  I.  That's 
my  way,  Piomingo  :  I'm  fair  and  above  board 
with  every  thing.  I  practise  none  of  your 
sneaking  quirks  and  tricks  :  I'm  above  it — 
I'm  above  it,  you  see. 

"  Well,  what  said  the  judges?" 

They  gave  it  in  my  favor.  O,  I  won  it 
sleek  enough;  but  what  do  you  think?  When 
I  went  to  the  man  who  held  the  stakes,  "  give 
me  the  money,"  says  I.  "  He  shan't,"  says 
Bob  ;  "  I  didn't  lose  it,"  says  he.  "  I'll  have 
it,  by  G — ,"  says  I.  "Damned  if  you  shall," 
says  he.  "  Didn't  the  judges  give  it  in  my 
favor  ?"  says  I.  "  They  were  partial,"  says 
he.  "  And  you  won't  pay  it  ?"  says  I.  "No," 
says  he.  "  You're  a  damned  rascal,"  says  I. 
"  You're  a  damned  liar,"  says  he.  Smack  I 
took  him,  between  the  lug  and  the  horn,  as 
Julius  did  the  bull — down  he  fell — and  I  upon 
him.  The  damned  rascal,  to  give  me  the  lie  ! 
By  G —  sir,  no  man  shall  gire  me  the  lie  with 


THE  SAVAGE. 


105 


impunity.  I  didn't  care  the  hundredth  part  of 
a  damn  for  the  money ;  but  when  a  fellow 
goes  to  jockey  me,  d'ye  see  ? — and  g:ivcs  me 
the  lie  to  boot,  d'ye  sec  ?  I'd  fi/rjit  sir,  by  the 
godof  war,  I'd  fijrht  for  the  thousandth  part 
of  a  cent,  1  would.  My  name's  Dick  Gabble 
— I'm  not  ashamed  of  my  name.  I  may  be 
whipped;  but  I  can't  be  cowed — can't,  can't — 
damn  me,  it's  impossible:  there's  no  such 
thing  in  natuie.  I'm  but  a  little  fellow  ;  but 
I  wouldn't  turn  tail  to  never  a  man  that  broke 
the  bread  of  life,  1  wouldn't:  not  I. 

"  Did  you  Hog  him  ?" 

No :  they  parted  us — I'd  have  licked  him 
like  damnation,  if  they  hadn't  parted  us — did 
give  him  a  damned  black  eye — didn't  hurt  me 
at  all — didn't  get  a  scratch — takes  a  damned 
smart  fellow  to  scratch  mc,  I  tell  you. 

"  You  arc  an  active  little  dog,  I  dare  say." 

That  I  am — am  indeed — got  a  strong  arm, 
I  tell  you.  Then,  I  have  such  springs— Gad  I 
I'm  as  quick  as  lightning.  A  fellow  has  need 
to  have  all  his  eyes  about  him  when  he's  got 
rac  to  deal  with,  you  see  ;  if  he  hasn't  I'll  bo 
damned. 

"  Then  you  are  spirited  also." 

True  blue,  by  G — I  I'd  fight  the  devil  and 
all  his  imps. — Roar  thunder,  blaze  hell,  blow 
damnation  I  here  1  am,  Dick  Gabble  for 
ever ! 

"  You  knocked  him  down  the  first  stroke, 
did  you?" 

Yes,  yes,  I  did ;  damme  if  I  didn't,  sir ; 
like  a  shot,  sir.  Hold  here,  Piomingo,  I'll 
show  you  how  I  took  him  the  first  clip. 

"There  is  no  necessity  for  an  cxrtinple,  I 
understand  it  perfectly.  What  I  do  you  mean 
to  strike  mc  ?" 

Just  give  you  a  light  touch,  Piomingo,  to 
show  3'ou  how  I  took  him — won't  iiurt  you — 
damn  it,  don't  be  afraid — won't  hurt  you,  'pon 
my  honor — won't,  'pon  my  soul — wouldn't 
hurt  you  for  the  world.     Just  so. 

"  Hands  otT,  you  puppy  I  hands  off  I" 

Beg  your  paidon,  sir — no  offence,  no  offence 
— meant  no  harm — damned  if  I  did,  you  sec. 

"  Well,  what  nc.\t  ?" 

Why  sir,  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was  sir  :  We 
agreed  to  leave  the  whole  affair  to  a  reference : 
and  what  do  you  think  was  the  award  ? 

"  I  cannot  tell." 

Why  sir,  they  awarded  that  every  man 
should  have  his  own  money  ;  that  each  of  us 
should  pay  a  dolLr*for  something  to  drink  ; 
and  that  we  should  shake  linnds,  d'ye  sec,  and 
be  friends.  'Twas  liard — damned  h.^rd  ;  but 
I  never  bear  malice.  I'm  the  best  tempered 
cres^ure  in  the  world  :  indeed,  I'm  too  good- 
natured :  I  suffer  nivbtlt'to  be  inrposed  upon  : 
it's  my  weakness  :  I  cyn't  help  it :  it's  natural 
to  me.  So  sir,  you  sec  sir,  we  repaired  to  (he 
house  sir,  and  drank  like  CaJsars.  Shall  I  tell 
you  the  truth,  sir  ? 

"  If  you  please." 

Wei!  sir,  the  Jact  is  this,  sir  :  I  ;rot  diunk, 
sir— dead  drunk — tliey  carried  mc  to  bed ;  and 
N 


there  I  lay  till  this  morning.  When  I  got  up 
I  felt  quite  poorly  I  assure  you  sir,  damned 
sort  of  good-for-notliing  like,  I  don't  know  how 
you  call  it — head  aches  yet.  So  sir,  you  per- 
ceive that  I  have  endeavored  to  explain  to  you 
the  manner  in  which  1  was  detained :  which 
I  hope  I  have  done  to  your  satisfaction. 

"  Fully." 

Yes  sir,  1  was  detained  quite  unexpectedly; 
but  I. have  ffot  home  at  last. 

"Thank  God  I" 

I  say  thank  God  too :  I'm  very  glad  to  bo 
at  ii  .me  indeed. 

"  You  give  thanks  for  one  thing,  and  I  for 
another :  you — because  you  have  completed 
your  journey ;  and  I — because  your  story  is 
ended." 

You  should  thank  mc  for  that.  But  zounds, 
how  I  sp«nd  my  time :  I  have  a  hundred  things 
to  do  this  very  evening — indeed  I  have — upon 
my  word,  sir.  Next  time  I  see  you,  I'll  ex- 
plain the  business  more  fully.-givc  you  several 
other  interesting  particulars. 

So  having  said,  little  Dickey  strutted  off 
with  an  air  of  infinite  importance.  The  ever- 
lasting  babbler  might  have  answered  our 
question  in  the  following  words  :  "I  got  drunk, 
and  could  not  return  until  I  became  sober." 

What  think  yc,  gentle  readers,  of  the  civil- 
izcd  Gabble  ?  shall  we  apologize  for  intro- 
ducing such  a  character  to  your  notice  ?  or 
will  3'ou  apologize  for  having  such  a  character 
among  you  ?  Dick  Gabble  is  no  creation  of 
ours:  perhaps  we  should  make  an  apology  to 
him,  for  omitting  a  multitude  of  his  oaths. 

Scandal. 

Ilic  nigraj  succus  loliginis,  hajc  est 
-iEriigo  mera. 

Scandal  is  £;cncrully  spoken  of  as  if  she  were 
a  female.  Wu  cannot  give  any  information 
concerning  her  sex  ;  but  we  have  as  oflcn  seen 
her  in  male,  as  ii\  female  attire. 

We  lately  fell  into  company  with  a  number 
of  gentlemen,  with  some  of  whom  we  had  the 
honor  of  being  acquainted  ;  or,  to  speak  more 
correctly,  some  of  whom  had  the  honor  of 
being  acquainted  with  us. 

Robert  Steady,  Frank  Fluent,  George  Toper, 
Charles  Lavisii,  Jack  Flash,  Will  Braggart, 
and  Timon  Crabtrec,  were  the  only  persons 
present  of  whom  we  had  any  previous  know- 
ledge ;  but  there  were  several  others,  with 
whose  names  we  became  acquainted  during 
the  course  of  the  evening :  Peter  Poison, 
Simon  Specious,  Samutl  Pliant,  and  Ralph 
Penniless. 

We  all  formed  but  one  company,  and  were 
seated  very  closely  together ;  but,  if  our  con- 
jecturcs  be  not  erroneous,  it  was  the  pleasin|f 
warmth  of  a  fire,  and  not  the  attraction  of  love 
or  brotherly  kindness  that  brought  us  into  con- 
tact. Winter  calls  men  together,  and  com- 
pels them  to  be  social ;  when  it  is  •>rob..blo  if 
they  were  Lt  liberty  to  cuncsult  their  <<\vn  in- 
clinutions-,  they  would  pre'cr  being  separate. 


100 


THE  SAVAGR 


Men  become  more  polished  and  civilized  in  the  delighted  mortal  discovered  his  felicity  by 
the  winter  than  they  are  in  the  summer  :  for,  his  Jidgetin<r  embarrassment,  and  by  the  awk- 
being  forced  into  company,  their  mutual  do-  ward  complacency  which  spread  itself  over  his 
pendence  is  increased,  and  their  asperities  are    countenance. 

rubbed  off  by  the  continual  friction  they  find  There  was  a  young  fellow  present  who 
it  necessary  to  suffer.  Every  one  assumes  the  seemed  to  have  formed  a  high  estimate  of  his 
character  in  which  lie  wislies  to  appear,  and  colloquial  powers,  as  he  frequently  evinced  an 
sedulously  endeavors  to  hide  the  natural  bent  anxiety  to  join  in  the  conversation  ;  but,  alas! 
of  his  disposition :  nature  is  banished  with  his  coat  had  suffered  by  the  ravages  of  time, 
violence ;  and  affectation  is  the  order  of  the  and  his  shirt  looked  out  at  the  elbows.  His 
day.  waistcoat  was  threadbare  ;  his  linen  was  none 

Amonnf  those  whom  chance  had  brought  of  the  cleanest ;  and  his  boots  appeared  ncTcr 
together  on  the  present  occasion,  there  was  one  to  have  formed  an  acquaintance  with  blacking : 
who  attracted  a  considerable  share  of  our  at-  his  whole  appearance  proclaimed,  what  we  are 
tention.  He  was  about  five  feet  six  inches  all  solicitous  to  conceal — want.  How  should 
high,wcll  formed  ;  and  his  features  were  rather  such  a  man  make  a  judicious  observation? 
delicate  than  otherwise.  He  was  extremely  The  thing  was  impossible.  Yet  he  was  not  to 
complaisant  to  those  with  whom  he  conversed ;  be  discouraged  by  all  these  disqualifying  cir- 
and  his  visage  exhibited  continually  a  sickly  cumstances ;  but  continued  to  take  advantage 
simpering -smile;  which  was  not  however  of  every  pause  in  the  conversation  by  endea- 
sufficient  to  conceal  the  characters  of  malevo-  voiing  to  edge  in  a  word  of  his  own.  For  a 
lence  and  envy  which  were  written  in  his  long  time,  we  paid  not  the  slightest  attention 
countenance.  His  words  were  smooth  as  oil :  to  his  remarks ;  but  some  of  us,  at  last,  pro- 
they  dropped  from  his  lips  as  "honey  from  the  voked  at  his  intrusive  perseverance,  turned 
green  oak,"  yet  we  could  not  help  suspecting  round  and  regarded  him  with  a  stare  of  superci- 
that  the  poison  of  asps  wag  under  his  tongue,   lious  amazement. 

Frank  Fluent,  who  sat  near  us,  perceiving  who  After  some  time  had  been  spent  in  this 
it  was  that  excited  our  observation,  whispered  manner,  Mr.  Steady,  observing  that  he  had 
in  our  car  *'that  is  Peter  Poison,  of  Bohon  some  business  that  required  his  attention,  rose 
Upas  Giove,  esq."  up  and  took  his  leave  of  the  company.     He 

The  conversation,  ae  is  usual  in  mixed  com-   was  scarcely  gone  when  Mr.  Poison  introduced 
panies,  was  of  a  desultory  nature:  One  subject   the  following  conversation: 
was  scarcely  introduced  till  it  was  supplanted       p^.^^„_  j^  ^^  ^^^^^^^^  ^^  ^^  g^^^j 

by  another.  Sometunes  we  paid  the  strictest  ^^^^  ^^  ^^^^^  ^^^^^^  j^^^^^^  to  interfere  with 
attention  to  the  speaker;  and  sometimes  we    j^j^  business.     He  is  a  cheerful  companion; 


his  countenance  is  pleasing  and  his  manners 
agreeab'vj.  I  have  known  him  ever  since  ho 
was  a  boy,  and  I  feel  for  him  sentiments  of 
the  sincerest  and  most  durable  friendship :  yet. 


interrupted  him  with  observations  of  our  own. 
Sometimes,  in  the  ardor  of  disputation,  we  all 
spoke  at  once,  and  again  awed  by  the  import- 
ance of  the  personage  who  was  delivering  his 

sentiments,  we  listened,with  silent  submission,  t  „„„„  ,  .  .,t  „, i„»  i  „     •»  u  „„„„„  tu^i  u^ 

,        .    '       ii    .^  j3        J /■        !_■   1-       tizu  1  cannot  but  wonder  how  it  happens  that  he 

to  the  wisdom  that  flowed  Irom  his  J ips.  When  „i„.i^    ..„  „„„  u;.^„„ir  „„  i:c„T  «„  „ „„„  :« 

,,  , J  ,  J      ,     j\  .  should  suppose  himselt  quahhed  to  engage  m 

we  say  ojt,  we  would  be  understood  to  except  ,,      ..       ^-        n     i-j-     i        u-i        u-     i  „„u 

".J,,  '.,  ,  ^-        1    -1     ^  the  discussion  01  pohlical  or  philosophical  sub- 

■f  imon  Crabtree  ;  who  continued  silent,  gfuaw-  •    »       tt  -hi-   4-„;  .,„ 

.     '  ,     ,       ,    f.,'.  ,    .      .      ^,'^  lects.     He  may  occasionally  make  a  ludicious 

ing  the  head  of  his  cane  and  viewing  the  com-  {observation;  but  he  never  was  known  to  de- 

pany  with  alternate  emotions  of  contempt  and  ^^^^  ,  j  inferences,   or  to   connect 

indignation.     Sometimes  he  smiled  ;  together  a  series  of  causes  and  effects.     Hi» 

but  smiled  in  such  a  sort  opinions,  as  well  as  his  estate,  have  descended 

A.S  if  he  mocked  himself  and  scorned  his  spirit,  to  him  by  inheritance ;  and  it  is  probable  they 

That  could  be  moved  to  smile  at  any  thing,  ^^u  ^e  transmitted  in  the  same  manner  tohi« 

When  Mr.  Steady  (whose  easy  manners  and  son,  without  their  having  suffered  any  waste 

elegant  habiliments  indicated  the  enjoyment  or  derangement  in  their  passage  through  the 

of  luxury  and  the  possession  of  wealth)  thought  mind  of  their  present  possessor, 
proper  to  make  an  observation,  If  man  be  correctly  defined  a   reasoning 

Uonticuere  omnes,  intentique  ora  tenebant:  animal,  Mr.  Steady  must  no  longer  lay  claim 


with  greedy  ears,  open  mouths,  -end  upraised 
eyelids,  we  devoured  the  sweet  intelligence  as 
the  Israelites  devoured  the  quails  in  the  wilder- 
ness, or  the  manna  tiiat  was  sent  down  from 
heaven.  When  he  smiled,  we  smiled  ;  when 
he  attempted  to  be  witty,  we  were  all  con- 
vulsed with  immoderate  laughter;  and,  wheii 


to  the  appellation :  for  fie  never  reasons.  It 
must,  however,  be  acknowledged  that  if  he 
never  conquer,  he  is  never  overcome  in  dispu- 
tation :  and  although  he  fails  of  producing  con 
viction  in  the  minds  of  others,  he  always  pre- 
serves his  own  opinions  inviolate. 

Pliant.    Your   observations   are  just,    Mr. 


he  expressed  his  surprise  at  any  circumstance,  Poison.     Steady's  mind  is  so  well  fortified  by 

Good  God  !  burst  s  multaneously  from  tlie  lips  prcjuciicc,  that  lie  laughs  at  the  clearest  axioms 

•of  every  one  in  the  assembly,    'Wlien  he  ad-  with  all  tlicir  host  of  unavoidubleconsequences; 

-dressed  himself  particularly  to  any  individual,  he  despises  tiie  tropes  and  figures  of  rhetoric ; 


THE  SAVAGE.  107 

and  bids  defiance  to  all  the  syllogistic  artillery  Crabtree.  If  you  be  his  friend,  let  him  alone; 

of  the  schools.  the  snail,  wheiuver  it  crawls,  leaves  a  portion 

Poison.  True,  Mr.  Pliant :  there  he  has  the  of  its  slime, 

advantage  of  us:  our  opinions  must  be  sup-  Poison.  Pray, why  should  you, Mr. Crabtree,, 

ported  by  reason,  otherwise  they  fall ;  but  this  who  profess  to  hate  all  the  world,  undertake 

gentleman's   upper   works   are   impregnable,  the  defence  of  Mr.  Steady  ? 

absolutely  impregnable.  Crabtree.  It  is  not  respect  for  him,  but  de- 

Specious.    Notwithstanding  his  intellectual  testation  of  yoii,  winch  occasions  my  displea- 

weakness,  his  conduct  appears  lo  be  regulated  sure.     Yes,  I  hate  all  the  world,  but  particu- 

by  the  strictest  rules  of  propriety  ;  and  he  is  larly  sycophants  and  slanderers, 

universally  allowed  to  be  just  and  honorable  in  Poison.  Do  you  hate  yourself  7 

his  dealings.     Alas  !    wliat  is  renson  ?     It  is  Crabtree.  Yes. 

rather  a  meteor  ihat  leads  us  astray,  than  a  Poison.  Why  ? 

"  a  lamp  to  direct  our  feet  through  the  wilder-  Crabtree.  Because  I  am  a  man  :  because  I 

ness  of  life  !"     A  man  can  do  as  well  with-  bear  the  same  shape  with  such  a  poisonous 

out  it.  reptile  as  you. 

Poison.  I  do  believe,  at  least  I  hope,  that  Poison.  Rail  away, Mr. Crabtree,your  snarl- 
Mr.  Steady  is  perfectly  honest ;  hut,  a  man  can  ing  makes  no  impression  upon  me. 
hardly  be  "so  correct  in  his  conduct,  but  t!uit  Crabtree.  No?  well  then  1  will  try  to  make 
there  will  be  some  whisperings  to  his  disad-  an  impression  with  my  cane, 
vantage.  I  should  be  sorry  to  give  ere-  So  sayings  he  raised  his  knotty  cudgel,  and 
dcncc  to  any  story  that  might  be  circulated  to  was  proceeding  to  lay  it  across  the  shoulders 
the  injury  of  Mr.  Steady's  reputation  ;  but  it  of  the  delicate  Poison  ;  who  exclaimed  with  a 
has  been  intimated  to  me,  in  the  way  of  confix  loud  voice,  "I  am  a  justice  of  the  peace  :  strike 
dence,  that  there  was  some  little  underhand  ineif  you  dare  I"  when  the  company  interfered" 
work  in  the  settlement  of  old  John  Rich's  es-  and  prevented  the  perpetration  of  mischief. 
tate.  Mr.  Steady,  you  know,  was  sole  cxccu-  We  could  perceive,  by  their  countenances, 
tor:  I  hope  the  orphans  had  no  cause  of  com-  that  Charles  Lavish,  George  Toper,  Jack 
plaint,  thouirh  there  appears  to  be  soMie  mystery  Flash,  and  Will  Braggart,  were  much  dissatis- 
iu  the  transaction.  Indeed,  I  had  all  the  par-  iied  with  our  conduct  \n  quelling  the  distur- 
ticulars  of  the  affair  from  a  person  who  had  banco ;  from  which  they  had  promised  them- 
cvcry  opportunity  of  being  acquainted  with  the  selves  considerable  entertainment;  being  dia- 
circumstances.  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  mention  appointed  in  their  expectation,  they  thought 
the  particulars ;  and  I  am  by  no  means  dis-  proper  to  leave  the  company  and  look  for 
posed  to  promote  the  circulation  of  any  story  amusement  in  some  other  quarter. 
that  might  have  a  tendency  to  sully  the  lair  Frank  Fluent,  willing  to  sec  if  the  late  re- 
famc  of  my  friend,  bnff  h:id    effected  a    reformnlion    in    Poison, 

Crabtree,    When  Mr.  Steady  were  present,  thought  proper  to  renew  the  conversation. 

gentlemen,  you  servilely   received   liis  senli-  Frank.  Are  you  acquainted   with   Lavish^ 

mcnts  as  emanations  from  the  or.icle  of  trufli  :  Mr.  Poison  ? 

you  praised  the   acuteiiess  of  jiis  iicrceptioii,  Poison.  I  have  known   him  from  a  child, 

the  correctness  of  his  icasoiiing,  the  solidity  of  He  once  owned  a  very  pretty  property  ;  but  he 

his  judgment,  ;ind  the  brilliancy  of  his  wit;  iias  ruined  himyelf  by  his  fully  and  extrava- 

but  the  moment  he  is  gone,  you  jjronouncc  him  gancc.     Five  years  ago,  he  was  a  man  of  sub- 

m  fool:  and  not  satisfied  with  that,  you  endeavor  stance  ;  but,  by  his  gambling  and  dissipation, 

to  blacken  his   character.     How  inconsistent  he  lias  reduced  himself  to  beggary. 

such    procedure  I    how   dastardly    such    con-  Frank.  He  owns,  I  think,  several  houses  ia 

duct !  the  city  at  present. 

Ptison.  If  you  allude  to  me,  Mr.  Crabtree,  Poison.  There  are  several  houses  which  may 

I  cannot  do  otherwise  than  express  my  surprise  sometimes  be  called  liis;  but  they  are  mort- 

at  what  you  have  said.     Mr.  Steady,  as  I  said  gaged  for   more  t!i;in  tliey  are    worth.      Af 

before,  is   my   particular  friend,  and    I  was  present  he  owns  nothing,  less  than   nothing  : 

merely  expressing  my  regret  that  the  censori-  he  has  contracted  debts  which  he  can  never 

OHS  world,  you  understand   me,  should  cast  repay, 

aspersions  of  this  nature Franfc.  What  Uunk  you  of  Toper  ? 

Crabtree.  Yes,  I  understand  you  very  well :  Poison.    Ah,  poor  George  !    it  makes   me 

conscious  of  your  own  depravity,  you  enviously  melancholy  to  think  on  the  race  he  has  run  1: 

endeavor  to  disparage  every  thing  that  has  the  Would  you  believe  it,  Mr.  Fluent  ?  This  man, 

appearance  of  excellence.  a  few  years  ago,  was  respected  by  every  one 

Poison.   Mr.  Crabtree,  do  you  mean  to  in-  who  knew  him.     He  was  well  educated,  pos- 

suit  me  7  sessed  uncommon  abilities,  and  was  every  way 

Crabtree,  Yes,  qualified  to  make  a  figure  in  life ;  but  now  he- 

Prison.  You  wrong  mc,  indeed  you  do :  so  is  a  confirmed  drunkard,  scarcely  recovering 

tar  from  contributing  to  injure  the  fame  of  Mr.  from  one  fit  of  intoxication  before  he  plungea 

Steady,  I  would  willingly  defend  his  character  into  another.     Is  it  not  a  great  pity,  gentla* 

from  the  attacks  of  malevolence.  men  7 


106 


THE  SAVAGE. 


Pliant.  A  great  pity  indeed,  Mr.  Poison. 

Specious.  A  very  great  pity. 

Crabtree.  Damn  your  pity  !  Wretches  !  how 
dare  you  pity  a  man  so  much  superior  to  your- 
Belvcs  7 

Poison.  I  am  really  sorry  for  Toper's  mis- 
fortune :  he  is  an  enemy  to  nobody  but  himself. 
There, too,  are  Jack  Flash  and  Will  Braggart: 
the  first  is  a  handsome  fellow ;  but  he  bears 
liis  whole  fortune  on  his  back:  and  the  second 
is  an  agreeable  companion ;  but  an  intolerable 
liar  :  he  never,  unless  it  were  by  accident,  told 
a  word  of  truth  in  his  life. 

Crabtree.  Mr.  Poison,  I  am  going  away  in 
order  to  give  you  an  opportunity  of  scattering 
a  little  more  of  your  venom. 

As  soon  as  Poison  perceived  that  Crabtree 
had  actually  departed,  he  proceeded  as  follows : 
"  I  cannot  conceive  why  Crabtree  should  make 
me  the  particular  object  of  his  enmity  ;  but  it 
is,  probably,  because  ho  knows  it  is  in  my 
power  to  mention  some  circumstances  which 
are  not  generally  known." 

Specious.   You  allude  to  the  affair  a 

that  made  some  little  noise  some  time  ago 
a you  know  what  I  mean. 

Poison.  Yes,  yes,  {nodding,  and  winking, 
andsmilling)  I  believe  I  do :  I  heard  the  whole 
Btory  immediately  after  the  transaction  took 
place. 

Pliant,  Ah  !  there  was  some  whispering. 

Poison,  It  was  an  ugly  affair ;  but  I  hope 
that  nothing  I  have  said  will  be  mentioned 
•gain.  Possibly  it  was  not  as  bad  as  it  was 
represented :  I  should  be  sorry,  however,  that 
any  one  had  it  in  his  power  to  circulate  such 
ft  Btory  concerning  me.  As  to  Crabtrce's  rude 
and  unmannerly  observations,  I  treat  them 
with  contempt. 

Pliant.  He  is  a  brute. 

Specious.  }ie  is  not  fit  to  live  a  civilized 
country. 

Having  wearied  themselvcp  with  winks, 
nods,  hints,  smiles,  shrugs,  knowing  looks,  and 
a  variety  of  crooked  insinuations.  Messieurs 
Specious  and  Pliant  took  a  ceremonious  leave, 
expressing  the  highest  degree  of  friendship 
and  respect  for  Mr.  Poison  ;  who,  on  his  part, 
gave  them  a  pressing  invitation  to  visit  him  at 
Bohon  Upas  Grove,  assuring  them  that  not  only 
he  himself,  but  Mrs.  Poison  and  all  the  family 
would  be  delighted  at  such  an  occurrence ; 
and  think  themselves  honored  in  contributing 
to  the  amusement  of  gentlemen  so  dearly  be- 
loved and  so  highly  respected. 

Frank.  These  gentlemen,  who  have  just  left 
yon,  are,  it  seems  your  particular  friends,  Mr. 
Foison  ? 

Poison,  Yes :  we  have  long  been  in  habits 
of  intimacy.  Specious  is  a  fine  man,  a  very 
fine  man  indeed  ;  but  smooth  water  is  deep  : 
he  would  have  no  objections  to  practise  a  little 
roguery,  if  it  could  be  done  snugly  in  a  corner. 
Ab  to  Pliant,  he  is  a  good  sort  of  a  man ;  but 
th<p  creature  has  no  opinion  of  his  oWri :  he 


will  accede  to  every  thing  you  say.    Gentle- 
men, I  wish  you  a  good  evening. 

Frank.  Poison  is  gone  ;  the  whole  company 
has  dispersed ;  and  we  have  done  wisely  iu 
keeping  our  posts  until  the  time  of  his  de- 
parture.  Had  we  gone  away  sooner,  we  should 
have  suffered  from  the  lash  of  his  malevolent 
tongue ;  he  would  have  passed  some  slight 
commendations  on  Piomingo  and  Frank  ;  and 
then  would  have  followed  his  malignant  and 
poisonous  But :  he  never  was  known  to  bestow 
praise  on  any  one  save  for  the  purpose  of  in- 
troducing slander. 

Hie  niger  est :  Hunc,  tu  Romano,  caveto. 

Peace. 

"  How  long,"  said  a  pious  religionist,  "  shall 
the  earth  be  afflicted  by  war  ?  How  long 
shafi  man  rise  up  against  man,  and  cover  the 
fair  fields  of  creation  with  carnage  and  "de- 
struction ?  When  shall  the  olive  of  peace 
extend  its  branches  over  the  earth,  and  the 
sons  of  men  seek  repose  under  its  widespread- 
ing  shade  ?  When  shall  the  time  come  in 
which  "  swords  shall  be  beaten  into  plough- 
shares, and  spears  into  pruning  hooks,  when 
nation  shall  not  lifl  up  sword  against  nation, 
neither  shall  they  learn  war  any  more  ?" 

I  have  seen  burned  cities,  desolated  fields, 
and  impoverished  families  :  I  have  heard  the 
groans  of  the  father  when  deprived  of  his  son, 
the  support  of  his  age:  1  have  witnessed  the 
despair  of  the  mother,  when  bereaved  of  the 
delight  of  her  eyes  and  the  joy  of  her  life :  I 
have  heard  the  frantic  cries  of  the  widow,  and 
have  seen  the  tears  of  the  orphan  :  I  have  be- 
held the  decrepit  soldier  oppressed  with  age 
and  covered  with  wounds,  begging  a  wretched 
support  at  the  doors  of  the  opulent :— "  This 
is  thy  work,  O  war  I  these  are  thy  fruits,  O 
ambition  I" 

What  then,  we  demanded,  is  peace  7 

"  Peace,"  said  our  friend,  "  is  the  absence 
of  war :  Where  there  is  no  contention,  no 
strife,  no  opposition,  there  is  peace.  Peace  j« 
love  :  it  is  harmony  :~it  is  rest.  I  cannot  tell 
you  what  it  is ;  but  it  is  no  less  excellent  on 
account  of  my  inability  to  define  it.  A  modern 
poet  has  wrttcn  a  beautiful  hymn  to  peace  : 
shall  I  read  it  ?" 

Do  so. 

"  Hail,  holy  peace,  from  thy  sublime  abode, 
Mid  circling  saints  that  grace  the  throne  of  God! 
Before  his  arm,  around  ourembryon  eanh, 
Stretched  dim  the  void  and  gave  to  nature  birth, 
Ere  morning  stars  his  glowing  chambers  hung. 
Or  songs  of  gladness  woke  an  angel's  tongue. 
Veiled  in  the  splendors  of  his  bearnlul  mind. 
In  bless'd  repose  thy  placid  form  reclined. 
Lived  in  his  life,  his  inward  sapience  caught. 
And  traced  and  toned  his  universe  of  thought. 
Borne  through  the  expanse  with  his  creating  voice 
Thy  presence  bade  the  unfolding  v>orlds  rejoice. 
Led  forth  the  systems  on  their  bright  career, 
Shaped   all  their  curves  and  fashioned   every 
apher*, 


THE  SAVAGE.  lOj^ 

Spaced  out  their  suns,  an.l  round  cac],  ra.l.nnt   forth  their  armies  to  (Jeslriiclion,  and  sacrifice 
Orb  over  od..  eompelled  their  tr.ia  to  roll.  hZn""'!?!^?  thousands  to  their  restless  am- 

Bade  heaven's  own  harmonv  their  force  combine,        i    ,   •   i  "''""j  ^  'Jrcadful  thin^  ?" 

Taught  all  tiicir  iiosts  syinphonious  strains  lo    ,  ^'^'"i'""'}')  very  dreadful  :  Wr.r  is  a  tremcn- 
join,  "ous  volcano  which  desolates  the  field's  with 

Gave  to  seraphic  harps  their  sounding  lay?,  rivf>rs  of  fire,  and  overwhelm?  the  cities  with 

Their  joys  to  anjfcls,  and  to  men  their  praise.         oceans  of  lava  ;  but  do  not  the  ashes  of  this- 
Is  not  this  very  fine  ?"  volcano  fertilize  the  cart li  ?     Does  not  the  ccn- 

Ay,  very  fine ;  but  it  will  not  enable  us  to  *'"^'  ^"^^*  hasten  the  proj^rcss  of  vctrcl .ition  ? 
form  an  idea  of  peace.  Here  is  a  great  show  ^^°  "°*^  *^''^^s  bloom  and  fruit  ripen  round  the 
of  words  ;  but  the  mind  is  fatigued  and  dis-  ^^^^  of  the  burning  mountain  ?  In  war  every 
tressed  wlicn  it  endeavors  to  discover  the  f'^'ai'i  opens  the  way  for  a  life;  wounds  and 
meaning  that  is  intended  to  be  conveyed.  Did  ''''teases  alford  employment  for  surgeons  and 
peace  recline,  in  blessed  repose,  veiled  in  tlic  P^y^icians;  tj)e  meairerness  of  the  half-starved 
splendors  of  the  beamful  mind  of  God?  did  it  ^oj'^it;''  clothes  the  bones  of  the  commissary 
live  in  his  life,  catch  his  inward  sapience,  trace  with  flesh  ;  tiie  wants  and  distresses  ot  the 
and  tone  his  universe  of  thought  ?— Snbiact  ^^f'P'^  heap  tiie  table  of  the  contractor  with 
this  tinsel  to  the  chcniieal  scrntiuy  of  reason,  luxuries,  and  cause  his  cup  to  overflow.  While 
and,  what  have  we  ? — Fvnum  ix  fvlpore.  Did  l''c  belligerents  are  contending  for  empire, 
^cace  bid  tlie  unfolding  worlds' rejoie^,  l<ad  "'^1'^''^' "'''''"ns  talu'.  ;id  vantage  of  their  neccs- 
forth  their  systems,  shape  their  curves,  fashion  f''"^*''  '^''^^  grow  rich  by  their  calamities- 
their  ppheres,  space  out  their  sans,  and  compel  '^■'aders,  adventurers,  speculators,  hyenas, 
their  train,  orb  over  orb,  to  roll  ?  These  were  ^^"'^'^'C''.  vultures,  scent  the  blood  from  afar,  and' 
more  pro])erly  the  operations  of  war,  the  h^**^"^"  ^o  iTors^*'  fiiemselves  v.-ith  the  carnage, 
triumphs  of  the  creator  fovir  chaos.  There  7"''^  ^"'''^''^^"^/''' the  earth,  whose  fields  are 
is  no  such  thing  as  ]ieace  in  nature  :  Atom  is  ^''"'^tcd  at  a  flijtancc  from  the  scene  of  con- 
at  war  with  atom;  planets  cor.fcnd  witli  **-""t*o".^"^  consequently  escape  the  ravagesof 
planets;  suns  dispute  with  suns  for  the  cm-  ^^"'■' '"'^J"''^';' 'hat  the  produce  of  liis  labor  com- 
pire  of  comets ;  and  system  exerts  its  influence  "^^P^*'  ^  P^icc  corresponding  to  his  avaricious 
in  opposition  to  system.  Man  comes  into  life  "f^"'cs,  and  devoutly  thanks  God  for  the  pro- 
fighting,  and  continues  to  contend  witli  every  ^"jcnti^l  occurrence.  The  merehant  patheti- 
thing  round  liim  till  the  last  moment  of  his  /''"j'  '".'"cnts  over  the  sufferings  of  afHictcd 
existence.     What  is  peace?  humanitj-,  but  in  the  mean  time  supplies  the 

"When  one  nation  ceases  lo  carry  on  against  ^""tending  parties  with  tiie  pnhulum  of  war 
another  those  operations  whieh  are  known  by  *"°  ^'"'  ^^^  instruments  of  destruction,  and 
the  name  of  war,  tiiat  cessation  is  llie  com-  ^ '.'"  <^"ahlcs  them  to  continue  the  contest, 
mcnccment  of  peace,  which  consists  in  the  ab.  •  "^'••'t'tr''  range  the  seas,  as  wolves  do  the 
Bcnce  of  these  operations."  desert,  in  search  of  their  prey  :  tljcy  phmder 

Peace,  then,  is  nothing  :  and  it  is  not  won-  "^'"^  defenceless  of  every  nation  that  fall  in  their 
dcrful  that  we  should  find  it  ditficult  to  give  a  ^^'"^  '  ^]}^^.  *"!""  *'"^""  '"'"'•''  "f-'iiinst  their  couu- 
satisfactory  definition  of  a  nonentity.  Every  ,  >':  ''"''  ^^^^  '"^^  consequence  by  the  ruin  of 
thing  in  nature  is  known  hv  its  qiialities,  by    '"•-■''■ '"ends. 

the  influence  it  rxerls  over'nther  bun-s,  by  ,  .^^ ''*""  ""^""in'l  '''or'n"  drive  the  frequent 
the  war  it  maintains  with  surrounding  objeels.  '"'P^  "",'',  '""-l>"rons  const  of  some  cimlized 
Were  there  peace  in  nature,  we  never  should  ^!  .  '  ","^  '''*"''•'•"'  inliahitanfs  rush  forward, 
be  able  to  acquire  any  knowledge  of  the  exis-  'r^'^'y  ^''^  1'?"''  ""anner  while  struggling  with 
tencc  of  things:  the  universe  would  consist  of  "^".^aves,  seize  grerdily  on  the  plunder,  and 
a  multitude  of  isolated  beings  uninfluencing  '""'"f  ,  .^'^  P"'"^'^  *"•■  ^'''^  hhssings  of  a 
and  uninfiucnced,  unknowing  and  unknown.  P,  ^^reckrng  srasov  as  do,_s  the  Jarmcr  for 
"  Let  us  lay  aside  these  metaphysical  sub-  ,  exuberance  of  a  plentiful  harvest.  When 
tilitics  which  arc  only  calculated  to  perplex  *''  '7'^  '-^  m  f1ame«=  in^fhe  midst  of  some 
the  mind  and  lead  it  into  labyrinths  of  error  :  Vf'^^'f.  Citj,  the  ci.»»i«7  thieves  of  the  vicin- 
let  us  use  words  agreeably  to  their  usual  ac  "^-' .  .  "^  advantage  of  the  confusion,  appro, 
captation,  unless  we  mean  to  speak  a  language  P"''^''  *°  themselves  the  property  of  the  suffer- 
wholly  different  from  that  of  the  rest  of  the  !"?  ""f/i^nd.  "o  doubt,  litt,  up  their  hearts 
^p^lj  1.  1"  tliankfulness  to  the  lountiful  gtver  of  all 

War  then  is  the  beating  of  drums,  the  roar-  ^"f^'^  ^^,  ^f,^''"'^^  kindness. 

ing  of  cannons,  the  clashing  of  swords,  the  tit,  °  ,,    P  *     , 

storming  of  forts,  the  burning  of  towns,  Uic  ^  ''^  *^^^  exclamation  ? 

■hout§  of  the  victors,  t!ie  despair  of  the  van-       „     "; Mutato  nomine  de  te 

quisheS,  and  the  groans  of  the  dying.  *  ^^^^^  narralur : 

"  Yes :  such  arc  jthc  horrid  operations  of  Thou  art  the  man !  O  child  of  civilization ! 
war.  Men  exist  for  a  moment :  and  that  mo-  tliou  art  the  man  I  When  a  nation  is  ship- 
ment, alas,  is  employed  in  destroying  each  wrecked ;  when  she  is  torn  by  intestine  con- 
other !  ,  Tbe  mad  tjrrants  of  the  world  lead  fusion;  when  th^  fraD^()^,.of  ,eQciety  ;is  disor* 


no 


THE  SAVAGK 


ganized  ;  when  the  whirlwind  of  [lopiilar  com- 
motion lias  torn  her  to  pieces  ;  wlion  the  flames 
of  civil  discord  rage  through  her  interior  : 
then,  the  ncighhoring  nations  say  one  to 
another,  "  liCt  us  go  up  to  war  ajjainst  our 
sister:  hehold,  liatii  not  the  Lord  delivered  her 
into  our  hands?"  The  suffering  nation  sees 
herself  surrounded  by  dcvourers:  some  menace 
her  witli  open  violence;  others  mock  her  ca- 
lamity witli  insidious  ]^rofcssions  of  friendship; 
all  take  advantage  of  her  necessities,  and  en- 
deavor to  aggrantlizc  thcuiscives  by  her  de- 
struction. The  plunderers  proceed  gradually 
to  bring  about  her  ruin  :  tliey  seize  her  garri- 
sons, rob  her  treasury,  dispense  with  her  laws; 
usurp  the  power  of  legislation,  and,  finally, 
enslave  her  citizens,  partition  her  territory,  and 
blot  out  her  name  from  under  heaven. 

These,  my  benevolent  triend,  are  a  few  of 
the  many  advantages  that  tlow  from  those 
horrible  contentions  you  affect  to  pursue  with 
execrations.  You  may  continue  to  express 
your  disapprobation ;  but,  in  the  mean  time, 
do  not  fail  prudently  to  turn  these  events  to 
your  personal  emolument.  When  Lisbon  was 
shattered  by  an  earthquake,  men  were  seen 
darting  through  the  ruins  with  torches  in  tiieir 
hands  and  setting  fire  to  those  buildings  that 
had  resisted  the  violence  of  the  shocks,  in  order 
that  they  might  be  enabled  to  plunder  amid 
the  flames. 

"  These  were  monsters,  not  men." 

They  were  men,  and  therefore  minsters. 
But,  my  good  sir,  how  does  it  happen  tiiat  your 
detestation  of  war  has  risen  to  such  an  amazing 
height  witliin  the  course  of  a  few  years  ?  Do 
we  not  remember  the  time  when  you  not  only 
dwelt  with  complacency  on  the  successes  of  a 
certain  belligerent  nation,  but  recounted  with 
delight  the  thousands  slain,  the  battles  won, 
and  the  kingdoms  conquered,  by  your  favorite 
hero  T  Have  you  not  raised  him  above  tlic 
Cwsars  and  Alexanders  of  the  rartli,;m(i  bound 
his  brows  with  the  wreath  of  inirnort  ihty  ? 
Did  you  not,  moreover,  celebiatc  his  virtues  as 
Weil  a«  his  military  achievements  ?  Tell  me 
candidly,  what  has  occasioned  tliis  change  in 
your  sentiments?  What  has  made  war  your 
iiTcrsion,  and  sunk,  in  your  estimation,  the 
character  of  heroes? 

"I  have  reflected  coolly  on  the  birbarities 
practised  in  war,  and  on  the  sanguinary  career 
of  a  conqueror  and  a  hero ;  and,  as  I  am  ad- 
vancing in  years,  indeed  am  drawing  near  the 
end  of  my  pilgrimage,  my  soul  stands  aghast 
with  horror  when  I  think  of  those  atrocities 
which  formerly  made  very  little  impression  on 
my  mind," 

Very  well  said.  You  therefore  insinuate 
that  you  become  more  humane  and  benevolent 
as  Tou  grow  old  :  a  circumstance  rather  un- 
common !  We,  on  the  contrary,  every  year 
we  dwell  among  civilized  men,  find  onrself 
more  and  more  hardened  in  our  errors,  and 
more  and  more  insensible  to  the  cries  of  the 
ftfHicted  :  should  we  not  be  so  fortunate  as  to 


die  before  long,  we  shall  become  as  wicked  av 
a  christian. 

Since  you  have  given  us  what  you  deem  a 
sutReicnt  reason  tor  your  sudden  abhorrence  of 
war,  we  v.'ill  endeavor  to  believe  you ;  but  wc 
must  acknowledge  that  we  had  previously  ac- 
counted  for  it  in  a  different  manner.  We  had 
supposed  that  not  only  your  former  admiration 
of  heroic  deeds,  but  your  present  sympathetic 
sufferings,  were  occasioned  by  the  state  of  your 
pecuniary  concerns. 

Several  years  ago,  the  old  world  was,  as  well 
as  it  now  is,  the  scene  of  contending  armies  ; 
but  tlien  you  rejoiced  in  the  prosperity  of 
American  commerce;  which  was  nourished 
by  the  blood,  and  flourished  through  the  mis. 
fortunes  of  suffering  Europe.  If  our  inemory 
be  not  treacherous,  we  lieard  you  declare  that 
tiiey  might,  if  they  would  let  us  alone,  fight  as 
long  as  they  pleased  :  "  By  so  doing,"  said 
you  with  a  smile  cfexultation,  "  tliey  will  open 
a  good  market  fjr  our  beef  and  our  flour." 
But,  as  the  belligerents,  by  their  late  restric- 
tions and  regulations,  have  nearly  annihilated 
neutral  commerce,  we  had  uncharitablj'  con- 
jectured that  you  had  been  led  to  conclude  that 
a  general  peace  would  be  more  favorable,  than 
war,  to  commercial  enterprise  and  enlightened 
speculation  ;  and  in  consequence  of  these  con- 
siderations, we  supposed  tiiat  you  began  to 
experience  certam  S3'mp;;thctic  sensations,  and 
to  mourn  over  the  afllielions  of  your  unfortu- 
nate fellow  men. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  should  hare  supposed 
me  to  be  swayed  by  such  unworthy  motives  i 
but  you  have  as  yet  mentioned  no  good  that 
results  from  war :  all  those  consequences,  or 
which  you  have  taken  notice,  arc  evils  of  the 
most  serious  nature." 

Think  of  the  French  revolution  :  think,  as 
long  as  you  please,  of  the  rapine,  cruelty,  and 
murder,  which  it  occasioned  :  but  at  the  same 
time  do  not  fail  to  observe  tlie  godlike  virtues, 
heroism,  honor,  friendship,  contempt  of  death, 
and  of  danger,  which  it  awakened  :  a  thousand 
3-ears  of  calm  corruplingpp  ice  would  not  have 
called  into  life  so  much  active  and  energetic 
virtue.  It  is  only  in  gr'eat  convulsions  and' 
revolutions  that  tlie  mind  of  man,  havingfteed' 
itself  from  the  grasp  of  avarice,  and  shaken  off 
the  yoke  of  contracted  sordid  and  grovelling:- 
passion,  discovers  something  Iranscendently 
great  and  imposing  :  we  are  ready  to  cry  out, 
as  did  a  people  of  old,  "  The  gods  hare  come 
down  in  the  likeness  of  men  !" 

"  Those  virtues  made  the  nation  a  poor  com- 
p-ensation  for  the  crimes  and  atrocities  of  the 
sanguinary  conflict:  these  faint  twinkling  stars 
only  rendered  visible  the  gloom  and  horrors  of 
the  revolutionary  night.  Did  France  derive 
any  positive  good  from  this  ferocious  strugf- 
glc  ?" 

What  good  does  a  patient,  borne  down  to 
the  grave  by  a  painful  or  loathsome  disease, 
receive  from  the  efficacy  of  a  powerful  medi- 
cine, or  from  the  bold  but  skillful  operations  of 


THE  SAT  AGE. 


in 


"ftic  slirf^con"?    IPrancc  was  siok  :  the  superior    ens  the  draught  with  Ilyblean  honey.     She  is 
extremities  of  her  body   were  weak,  bloated,    a  sorceress. 
Corrupt,  and  incapable  of  being  applied  to  any 


Valuable  purpose.  Her  bunds  were  no  loHger 
able  to  supply  her  "voraeious  jaws  and  her  in- 
satiable stomach  with  tlic  necessary  susten- 
ance;  and  her  feet  moved  heavily  beneath  a 
burthen  they  no  longer  had  the  ability  to  sup- 
port. The  poison  of  civilization  had  ptrvaded 
every  part  of  her  system  ;  the;  whole  mass  of 


LETTER  III, 

From  Chotafioioee,a  warrior  nf  the  Cherokee 

nation,  to  I'ioniingo,  a  headman  and  v;ar- 

rior  of  the  Muscogiilgee  confederacy. 

Father !    My  beloved  friend   Dr.  Calomel, 
who  resides  in  our  town,  writes  down  this  talk. 


her  blood  was  corrupted,  and  moved  sluggishly     May  it  reach  you  in  safety  ! 


through  her  veins ;  there  was  no  soundness  in 
her  Jlesh  ;  there  was  no  rest  in  her  hones  :  her 
whole  head  fe«rs  sick,  and  her  whole  heart  faint. 
But  nature  understood  the  disease  of  her  child, 
and  administered  the  only  efficacious  remedy 


Father  I  Have  you  learned  to  love  your  ene- 
mies and  hate  your  friends  ? 

Have  you  learned  to  chatter  like  a  jay  about 
nothing  ?  Do  you  toll  every  one  you  meet 
that  it  is  a  leaiitiful  day,  and  then  listen  t<r 


it  threw  the  agonized  patient  into  tlie  most  some  intelligence  equally  interesting  ?  Every 
horrible  convulsions:  unskilful  observers  were  time  you  encounter  an  acquaintance,  do  you 
ready  to  declare  that  the  hour  of  her  final  dis-  cry,  How  d'ye  do  ?  or  How  do  you  stand  it 
■solution  was  at  hand.  These  struggles,  how-  this  morning  ?  Do  you  ask  every  one  you  see 
■ever,  were  only  the  prelude  to  renewed  youth  wleat  news  there  is  stirring,  and  then  proceed, 
and  renovated  strength  :  She  arose  and  shook  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  to  communicate 
kenelf:  she  went  forth  like  a  giant  refreshed  some  important  observation  of  your  own  ? 
with  wine,  and  astonished  tiie  nations  with  the  Do  you  sit  several  hours  at  dinner  and  slan- 
grandeur  of  her  achievements.  She  will  now  dcr  your  neighbors  who  are  absent,  and  speak 
go  on  rejoicing  in  her  strength  till  she  become  smooth  things  to  those  who  are  present?  Do 
again  civilized  and  corrupted  ;  till  the  superior  you  understand  cookery  more  perfectly  than 
parts  of  her  body  become  too  Jieavy  to  be  home  the  oldest  of  our  squaws  ?  Can  you  tell  how 
by  the  inferior  :  then,  she  must  again  have  much  cream,  how  much  butter,  how  much 
recourse   to   the   revolutionary   medicine^   or    pepper,  how  mucli  salt,  how  much  vinegar, 

and  how  mych  of  an  infinite  number  of  ingre- 
dients, for  which  we  Indians  have  no  name,- 
must  enter  into  tiio  composition  of  a  single 


perish. 

"  What  are  the  evils  attendant  on  pea<x;  ?" 
We  have  frequently  mentioned  some  of  the 
evils  of  civilized  life :  and  peace  is  the  nurse 
of  civilization.  Under  her  fostering  care  those 
arts  flourish  which  enable  man  to  impose  upon 
man.   We  liave  already  said,  there  is  no  peace ; 


civilized  dish  ?  Do  you  begin  to  carry  before 
you  a  mountain  of  guts,  ami  to  pant  when  you 
walk  up  a  hill  ?  Do  you  begin  to  have  a  com- 
fortablc  variety  of  fevers,  gouts,  consumptions, 
chachexics,  apoplexies,  and  rheumatisms  ?  Do 


but  we  now  add,  that  the  deceitful  calm,  to    you  be^'m  to  catch  cold  1    Father!  infoi 
which  you  have  given  the  name  of  peace,  is    j  1^^^"^,^  {„  y^ur  next  letter,  whe 


concealed  war. 


you, in  your 
not  you  begin  to  catch  ■cold. 


iform  me, 
ether  or 
Do  you  have 
When  Pallas  has  laid  aside  her  spear,  her  "s^'hat  Doctor  Catomel  calls  nervous  diseases  ? 
helmet,  and  terrific  shield,  she  smiles,  and  calls  Are  you  occasionally  troubled  with  imaginary 
herself  Minerva :  she  becomes  the  patroness  distempers?  Is  your  nose  sometimes  con- 
of  science,  presides  at  the  loom,  and  cultivates  verted  into  edible  cheese,  or  your  posteriors 
the  olive  !  Her  nature,  however,  is  always  into  frangible  glass  ?  Do  you  sometimes  sup- 
the  same  ;  only  she  is  much  more  dangerous  pose  you  are  the  chieftan  of  heaven,  and  able 
in  her  pacific  robes,  than  when  she  brandishes  to  regulate  the  motions  of  the  stars  ?  Have 
the  gleamy  spear  and  presents  her  snaky  egis  you  sometimes  the  accursed  (Zrseasc  whichyour 
to  the  terrified  children  of  men.  She  teaches  civilized  friends  long  since  made  common  in 
men  how  to  fight  in  aiMbusb,  and  carry  on    our  villages  ? 

their  operations  in  the  dark.  She  mstructs  Do  you  read  the  holy  book  and  keep  the  holy 
her  ingenious  disciples  how  to  practise  the  <lay  ?  Do  you  tell  the  Great  Spirit  how  to 
arts  of  deception,  to  lull  their  opponents  into  a  govern  the  world  ?  Do  you  tease  the  Gteat 
fatal  security,  and  to  gain  their  purposes  by  Mingo  of  heaven  with  your  songs  and  your 
theexhibitionof  false  appearances.  She  throws  psalms  and  your  never-ending  prayers;  with 
round  the  shoulders  of  the  sly  plotting  villian  your  kneeling  and  standing,  your  sobbing  and 
the  snowwhito  mantle  of  piety  and  religion,  crying,  your  shouting  and  howling,  your  cring- 
She  covers  intrigue  and  cunning  with  the  scm-    ing  and  wheedling  ? 

blance  of  truth  and  simplicity;  and  she  veils  Father!  Have  you  made  yourself  acquainted 
■the  face  of  hatred  and  malignity  with  the  with  the  civilized  oaths  ?  can  you  curse  like  a 
smiles  of  innocence  and  love.  She  seduces  the  gentleman?  can  you  swear  like  a  christian? 
unwary,  from  the  path  ol  rectitude,  by  deceitful  can  you  say  God  eternally  damn  your  soul  to 
lures  and  specious  courtesy;  .md  she  sircws  ApW,  without  t'ccling  yny  Siiv.igo  l^e^itatn'n,  at 
with  flowers  the  road  that  leads  to  destruction,  making  use  of  an  expresfion  so  impious  and 
Sihc  mixes  poisons  in  a  golden  cup.  and  sweet-    profane,  or,  at  utteiing  a  curse  so  malijfnant 


112 


THE  8AVAGB. 


and  so  horrible  7  I  had  long'  known  that  chris- 
tians tnudc  use  of  these  execrations  ;  but  I  had 
no  idea  of  the  meaning  until  Blackcoat  gave 
us  some  interesting^  information  concerning 
the  God  of  the  christians,  favorpd  us  with  an 
accurate  topographical  description  of  hell,  and 
instructed  us  in  the  nature  of  eternal  damna- 
tion. Piouiingo  1  What  shall  we  say  ?  Do 
these  white  christians  believe  their  owii  Jwly 
talks?  If  they  do,  they  arc  the  most  wicked, 
the  most  malevolent,  dcn)ons  that  ever  the 
Great  Spirit  [icnnilted  to  exist !  if  they  do  not, 
why  should  they  send  tiieir  missionaries  to 
propagate  errors  among  iiie  children  of  na- 
ture  ? 

Father  I  If  you  can  answer  all  the  questions, 
I  have  asked,  in  the  atfirmative,  I  shall  pro- 
nounce you  in  a  fair  way  to  be  civilized,  and 
advise  you  to  return  no  mure  to  the  hills  of 
the  ehcrokecs  or  the  clear  streams  of  tiic 
iVInscogulgees. 

Father !  I  have  often  admired  the  iiui)ortance 
of  tlie  subjects  which  are  discussed  by  these 
enlightened  and  polished  whites  in  their  acci- 
dental  concurrences  and  social  assemblies.  In 
the  first  place,  they  take  particular  care  to  in- 
quire into  the  state  of  eacli  other's  health  : 
"  I\Iy  dear  sir,  how  do  you  do  ?  How  do  you 
feel  this  morning  ?  I  hope  you  are  well." 
I'iomingo  !  Why  do  they  ask  these  ])reposter- 
ous  questions  ?  Do  they  feel  any  solicitude 
for  the  health  and  prosperity  of  their  friends 
and  acquaintances? — No  such  thing,  they 
would  send  each  other  to  the  devil  in  a  mo- 
ment if  it  were  in  their  power.  Do  tlx;y  wisli 
to  render  each  other  uniiappy  by  bringing  to 
their  respective  recollections  the  frailties,  pains, 
diseases,  and  infirmities  of  the  body  ?  Do 
they  wish  to  damp  the  general  joy  by  calling 
up  ideas  of  death  and  the  grave? 

In  the  second  place,  they  proceed  to  inform 
each  other  ser-ously  and  foiuially  concerning 
the  nature  of  the  weather,  the  temperature  of 
the  air,  the  comsc  of  the  wind,and  the  changes 
of  the  moon.  "  Well,"  says  one,  this  is  a 
pleasant  morning  :  the  rain  we  had  yesterday 
was  extremely  refreshing :  and  this  warm  sun, 
following  the  rain,  vvill  promote  Tegetation 
with  rapidity."  If  it  .be  summer,  we  hear, 
"  A  very  warm  day  this  I  is  it  not  sir  ?  My 
God  I  'tis  excessive  hot :  it  makes  me  perspire 
like  the  devil !"  Here  I  must  remark  that 
these  polished  beings  arc  very  apt  to  hook 
God  and  the  devil  into  the  same  sentence : 
ivhy  they  do  so,  I  cannot  tell,  unless  it  be 
^merely  to  embellish  their  discourse.  Father  ! 
I  speak  English  Hucntly  ;  but  I  never  could 
exactly  discover  wiieu  to  introduce  God,  or 
when  to  have  recourse  to  the  devil,  in  my  con- 
vcrsitiou :  indeed,  sometimes  1  am  ready  to 
conclude  that  those  names  are  used  without 
the  least  discrimination:  thus,  "Good  God! 
how  it  rains  !"  and  "  It  rains  like  the  devil  I" 
sccni  to  convoy  the  same  idea  precisely.  If 
two  friends  encounter  each  other  in  the  sslrect 
in  December  or  January,  after  the  customary 


interrogations  and  responses  concerning  the 
liealth  of  themstilves  and  their  families,  afler 
having  coughed  and  complained  of  a  coW,  and 
having  given  a  circumstantial  detail  of  the 
manner  in  which  this  cold  was  unfortunately 
caught ;  at'ter  having  whined  about  an  aking 
head,  a  poor  appetite,  a  sick  stomach,  a  miser- 
able digestion,  a  weakness  of  the  back,  a  sore 
shin,  a  crick  in  the  neck,  a  pain  in  the  hip, 
&c.  &c.,  they  proceed,  "  A  cold  day,  sir." 
"  Yes  sir,  quite  cold."  "  It  blows  conlbund- 
edly."  "  Yes  sir,  a  blustry  day  :  a  blustryday 
indeed  sir."  "Quite  a  deep  snow  this"  "Yes 
sir,  quite  a — quite  a  snowy  day,  sir:  this  is 
what  I  CF.11  winter."  Piomingo  I  What  is  their 
purpose  (if  they  have  any  purpose  at  all)  in 
relating  these  circumstances  which  must  ne- 
cessarily be  as  well  known  to  one  as  to  the 
other  ?  Docs  it  arise  from  habitual  garrulity, 
or  from  au  itching  propensity  to  hear  them- 
selves talk  ?  Each  orfe  hastens  to  be  delivered 
of  the  important  intelligence,  lest  his  friend 
should  begin,  and  consequently  deprive  him  of 
the  pleasure  of  exercising  the  organs  of  speech. 
Were  not  tlic  whites  an  intelligent  people,  I 
sliould  certainly  suppose  they  were  reduced,  by 
the  paucity  of  their  ideas,  to  the  deplorable 
necessity  of  talking  nonsense  or  continuing 
silent. 

In  the  third  place,  they  inquire  for  news  ; 
but,  for  the  most  part,  they  are'  mucli  more 
anxious  to  circulate  some  story  of  their  own, 
than  to  listen  to  the  curious  anecdotes  that  may 
have  been  gathered  by  others. 

Father  !  In  my  next  letter  I  shall  give  you 
some  account  of  the  progress  made  by  Black- 
coat  in  christianizing  the  Chcrakee  women, 
and  send  you  a  talk  which  he  held  with  our 
chiefs  and  warriors,  at  which  the  high  priest 
of  the  nation  was  present. 

Piomingo  !  3Iay  the  God  of  our  fathers  give 
you  prosperous  days  and  peaceful  nights! 
May  your  life  be  long,  and  your  death  tran- 
quil! and  may  you  at  last  find  repose  in  the 
islands  of  bliss  created  by  the  author  of  our 
life  for  the  everlasting  abode  of  the  souls  of 
heroes  and  the  spirits  of  the  just! 

Farewell.  Chotaiiowes. 

Chotahowee  has  taken  notice  of  the  insipi- 
dity and  frivolity  of  common  conversation ; 
but  he  has  not,  perhaps,  been  able  to  discover 
the  reason  why  the  confabulations  of  civilized 
men  arc  generally  so  dull  and  uninteresting. 

In  our  remarks  on  a  former  letter,we  proved 
that  civilization  fits  men  to  fill  a  place  in  so- 
ciety, but  renders  them  altogether  unable  to 
vary  their  conduct  according  to  circumstances: 
and  vve  now  take  the  liberty  to  add  that  a  man 
is  not  well  <iualificd  to  discourse  on  any  sub- 
ject which  ho  does  not  understand.  Hence  it 
Iiaopt'iis,  that  when  a  number  of  those  polished 
individuals  meet  together,  every  one  ieels  a 
stronij  propensity  to  speak  of  his  own  trade, 
profession  or  employment. 


THE  SAVAGE. 


iia 


The  farmer  would  willingly  inform  you  that 
the  season  was  favorable  or  unfavorable  to  tho 
growth  of  com,  or  the  culture  of  tobacco  ;  that 
the  caterpillars  had  committed  ravages  on  hia 
fruit  trees  ;  that  his  wheat  was  mildewed ; 
that  his  rye  was  blighted  ;  and  that  his  sheep 
•were  dying  with  the  rot. 

The  grazier — (We  acknowledge  that  the 
business  of  a  grazier  is  not  of  sufficient  conse- 
quence to  entitle  him  to  particular  notice  in 
this  place  ;  but  as  he  belongs  to  a  respectahle 
class  of  men  in  the  vicinity  of  Philadelfthia, 
and  as  we  have  often  been  compelled,  by  tiie 
cruel  and  malignant  fates,  to  sit  with  "  sad 
civility"  and  listen  to  tedious  bucolic  disquisi- 
tions, we  think  proper  to  say  a  few  words  on 
this  subject.)  The  grazier  can  descant  ing<?- 
■niouslyon  the  different  breeds  of  cattle  ;  and 
on  the  "art  and  mystery"  of  fattening  a  h\i\- 
lock.  He  can  tell  exactly  liow  much  grass  an 
ox  must  graze,  and  how  much  corn  \\c  must 
devour,  in  order  to  Jill  tip  his  •pmnts,  or  clothe 
his  frame  with  a  specified  quantity  of  flesh. 
He  can  not  only  tell,  while  the  beast  is  yet 
alive,  how  mucli  it  will  weigh  when  slaught 
ered  ;  but  he  cati  discover,  with  surprising 
sagacity,  what  a  quadruped,  now  poor,  will 
weigh  when  properly  and  sufficiently  fed.  Ho 
can  tell,  from  the  food  and  attention  bestowed 
on  the  amimal,  whether  it  will  die  well  or  ill ; 
whether  it  will  rise  above,  or  fall  below,  an 
estimate  formed  from  appearances  agreeably 
to  the  strict  Tules  of  art.  He  Hiscovers  uncom- 
mon acuteness  in  dislinguisliing  a  New  Eng- 
land bullock  from  a  Virginia  steer  or  a  Ten- 
nessee heifer.  He  knows  that  tlie  Louisiana 
•cattle  have  long  horns,  and  tliat  they  are  una- 
ble to  stand  the  rigors  of*ur  winter.  Finally, 
'his  conversation  is  replete  with  information 
•concerning  the  manner  of  striking  a  bargain 
with  a  butcher,  or  carrying  on  a  negociation 
with  a  drover. 

The  soldier  loves  to  talk  of  battles,  sieges, 
long  fatiguing  marches,  and  other  military 
achievemente.  He  boasis,  with  pride  and 
pleasure,  of  the  wonders  ho  has  perfonncd,  and 
exhibits  his  stumps  and  sears  as  testimonials 
of  hisTeracity.     He  speaks 

of  most  disastj'oiis  chances. 

Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  fie!d  ; 

Of  hairbreadth   'scapes   i'  th'  imminent  deadly 

breach ; 
Of  being  taken  by 'the  insoleni  foe, 
And  sold  to  slavery. >— 

The  sailor  would  talk  of  long  and  danger, 
ous  voyages,  of  barbarous  coasts,  of  dreadful 
storms,  of  naval  engagements,  of  floating  ice, 
of  desert  isles,  of  dangerous  rocks  and  sands, 
interposing  occasionally  encomiums  on  his 
•owiJ  courage  and  dexterity,  and  rendering  the 
whole  nenrly  unintelligible  by  his  nautical 
phrases  and  prculinr  modes  of  expression. 

The  several  artificers  rft'light  torxp- 1i  tr  on 
the  ingenious  prr>Huctifin«  n*"  their  hand^,  on 
4hc  tools  they  employ,  and  on  the  craft  which 
|>ruducea  their  wealth. 


Nothing  is  sufficiently  important  to  be  dis- 
cussed by  the  merchant  but  the  interests  of 
commerce  :  the  state  of  the  market,  the  risk 
incurred,  the  probable  profits,  and  the  rate  of' 
insurance.  If  he  grow  rich  by  trade,  lawful 
or  unlawful,  then  his  country,  of  course,  is  ia, 
a  prosperous  situation  :  and  if  he  make  an  an. 
fortunate  voyage,  the  nation  is  pronounced  to 
be  on  the  brink  of  destruction  I 

Thcy.who  belong  to  those  jirofessions  which 
are  honored  with  the  appellation  of  learned, 
have  frequently  some  acquaintance  with  gene- 
ral  literature,  and  are  consequently  better 
qualified,  than  the  persons  already  mentioned, 
to  join  in  rational  conversation  ;  but  it  unfor- 
tunately happens  that  literary  subjects  can 
rarely  be  discussed  unless  we  mean  to  exclude 
the  greater  part  of  every  mixed  company  from 
taking  a  share  in  the  colloquial  entertainment. 
It  must,  however,  be  admitted  that  lawyers, 
physicians  and  divines,  as  well  as  farmers, 
mechanics,  merchants,  soldiers  and  sailors, 
have  their  favorite  subjects  of  discussion,  and 
are  enabled,  by  tho  course  of  their  studies,  to 
shine  more  resplendently  in  those  parts  which 
they  have  frequently  rehearsed,  and  which 
liaTc  become  familiar  to  their  minds,  than  in 
those  which  are  more  generally  interesting  to 
mankind. 

Ti)c  lawyer  is  ever  ready  to  join  issue  with 
those  who  dispute  the  infallibility  of  the  lex 
tcripta  aut  non  scripta  :  he  can  praise  thosa 
venerable  regulations  sanctified  hy  time  and 
confirmed  by  experience — the  accumulated 
wisdom  of  ages  !  Tf  you  oppose  reason  to  any 
of  his  axioms,  he  immediately  demurs,  and 
objects  to  the  competence  or  credibility  at'  your 
witness  :  for  the  competency  and  credibility 
of  a  witness  arc  far  from  being  the  same  in 
the  eye  of  the  law.  He  informs  you  that  tho 
law  is  superior  to,  nay,  that  it  "is,  itpelf,  the 
perfection  of  reason  :  lex  est  sitmma  ratio.  He 
can  talk  wisely  nfricrhts,  whether  ai>pertaining 
to  persons  or  thincrs  :  and  he  can  tell  what 
remedy  is  afforded  by  the  law,  when  these, 
rights  are  violated  by  any  tortuons  offender. 
But  if  the  injuries  bo  insignificant,  (such  a« 
assailing  a  gentleman  with  abusive  and  inso- 
lent language,  insulting  the  unfortunate,  out- 
raging the  feelings  nf  the  sensitive,  ridiculing 
the  poor,  aged,  and  infirm)  there  is  no  redress : 
de  minimis  non  cnmt  iex.  He  knows  how  to 
bar  an  entail,  and  how  to  confess  lease  entry 
and  ouster.  He  knows  the  difference  between 
de  jure  and  de  facto,  and  discovers  vast  crudi- 
tion  when  the  nature  of  a  chose  in  action  is 
the  subject  of  investigation.  He  can  tell  when 
a  man  may  bring  detinue,  and  when  recourse 
must  be  had  to  trover  and  conversion.  He 
knows  the  difference  between  corporeal  and 
incorporeal  hereditaments,  and  points  out,with 
astonishin<r  precision,  the  distinction  between 
an  executory  devise  and  a  contingent  remain- 
der. 

The  phyican — (Put  belire  we  prorcrd  rny 
farther,  wc  take  the  liberty   to  obavrvt:  th^t 


m 


THE  SAVAGE. 


there  is  no  character  wc  co  much  love  and  ad- 
mire as  that  of  an  amiable,  humane  and  intci. 
ligent  physician,  who,  without  medical  bigotry 
or  professional  arrogance,  devotep  his  time  and 
talents  to  the  duties  of  his  profession ;  who 
studiously  and  tenderly  endeavors  to  remove 
or  alleviate  the  sufferings  of  the  body,  and 
soothes  with  benevolent  attentions  the  anguish 
of  the  mind ;  who,  like  the  good  Samaritan, 
pours  wine  and  oil  into  the  wounds  of  the  un- 
fortunate traveller,  while  the  pi  cud  priest  and 
hypocritical  Levite  pass  by  on  the  other  side. 
Such  a  man  resembles  one  who  was  greater 
tlian  the  good  Samaritan  :  he  resembles  the 
beneScert  toundcr  of  Christianity  ;  of  whom  it 
is  said,  that  he  uent  about  doinff  good.)  The 
physician  discusses  v.ith  pleasure  those  sub- 
jects which  affect  the  niindsof  other  men  with 
ccnsternetion  and  horror  :  he  relates  the  story 
of  having  been  in  at  a  de:th,  with  the  same 
composure  and  s^tisfaction.  that  another  will 
give  an  account  of  the  occurrences  of  a  bull, 
or  the  joyful  festivity  of  a  wt^idmg.  He  talks 
with  the  utmost  composure  of  emaciated 
limbs  stretched  out  on  the  bed  of  despair,  of 
the  heavy  hazv  eyes,  the  pallid  countenance, 
the  cold  moist  forehead,  the  dry  cough,  the 
parched  tongue,  the  rattling  throat,  and  the 
convulsive  struggle  of  dissoluticn.  And  should 
the  unfortunate  mortal,  in  performing  this  l,-!st 
Bcenc  in  the  serio-comical  drama  of  life,  exhibit 
any  little  peculiarities  or  whimsical  weakness- 
es," he  becomes  a  subject  of  ridicule  to  the 
philosophic  physician,  for  not  dying  according 
to  the  established  regulations  of  the  stage. 
The  physician,  moreover,  delights  to  inquire 
whether  the  human  frame  be  subject  to  many 
diseases,  or  to  one  only  ;  whether  a  com  plaint 
be  founded  in  a  constitutional  predisposition, 
or  induced  by  extraneous  causes  ;  whether  the 
yellow  fever  be  propagated  ty  a  subtile  contii- 
gicn  emanating  frcm  the  bodies  of  the  diseased, 
or  ingendered  by  pestifercus  miasmata  arising 
from  decayed  vegetables  or  putrefying  animal 
substances  :  and  in  these  cases  it  may  often 
be  observed,  that  the  support  and  establishment 
of  a  favorite  theory  are  objects  of  much  greater 
importance  than  the  preservation  of  life. 

The  divine — (Did  the  divine  observe  the 
precepts  and  follow  the  example  of  his  meek 
and  lowly  Master,  he  would,  whatever  we 
might  think  of  his  faith,  call  forth  our  love  and 
command  our  veneration  :  how,  then,  does  it 
happen,  that  as  soon  as  wc  hear  the  name  of  a 
clergyman  mentioned,  we  immediately  sssoci- 
ate  with  the  man  the  qualities  of  bigotry,  arro- 
gance and  spiritual  pride?  How  does  it  happen, 
that  they,  whose  business  it  is  to  inculcate 
benevolence,  charity,  humility  and  patience, 
should  be  characterized,  wherever  they  are 
known,  by  a  pioud  overbearing  intolerant  dis- 
position  ?  We  have  looked  into  nature  for  the 
cause  :  and  we  think  wc  have  found  it. — We 
have  known  a  negro  in  a  sourthern  state  to 
value  himself  ou  the  riches  and  grandeur  of 


his  master,  rnd  to  look  down^with  infinite  con- 
tempt, on  the  slave  of  a  less  opulent  planter, 
(paulo  majora  canamus)  the  ambassadors  and 
ministers  of  foreisn  nations  expect  to  be  hon- 
ored according  to  the  power,  opulence  and 
splendor  of  the  princes  by  whom  they  are  de- 
puted :  how  then  shall  we  show  our  respect 
for  the  ministers  plenipotentiary  from  the  court 
of  "  heaven  starpavcd  ?"  How  shall  we  re- 
ceive the  ambassadors  of  the  !\Iost  High  ? 
What  shall  be  done  to  the  man  whom  the  Lord 
of  Hosts  delighteth  to  honor  ?)  The  divine 
knows  where  hi.«  own  "  great  strength  litth," 
and  consequently  endeavors,  in  every  conver- 
sation to  mix,  with  the  ephemeral  concerns  of 
this  world,  the  everlasting  joys  or  sorrows  of 
another,  and  to  c;ill  away  our  thoughts  from 
the  business  of  this  life  and  fix  tliem  on  the 
dark  futurities  of  the  world  which  is  to  come. 

It  will  readily  be  admitted,  that  men  are 
better  qualified  to  talk  of  things  that  relate 
immediately  to  their  own  professions  and  em- 
plovments  iu  life  than  on  any  other  subject : 
and,  as  the  pursuits  of  civilized  men  are  almost 
infinite  iu  number,  it  follows  tliat  no  subject 
of  conversation  can  be  introduced  which  will 
be  interesting  and  familiar  to  the  whole  of  the 
company. 

Should  a  farmer  attempt  to  engross  the  at- 
tention of  an  assembly  by  giving  an  account 
of  the  management  of  his  affairs,  he  would  sub- 
ject  himselt  to  ridicule  ;  should  an  artificer 
entertain  us  with  any  thing  relating  to  his 
trade,  his  conversation  would  be  said  to  smell 
of  the  shvp;  sliouiri  a  soldier  or  a  sailor  attempt 
to  communicate  hi^  exploits  and  adventures, 
an  attentive  observer  would  perceive  a  sneer  of 
contempt,  or  a  smile  oi  incredulity,  playing  on 
the  countenances  of  the  auditors  ;  and  should 
any  one  dare  to  introduce  literary  subjects  in 
the  presence  of  illiterate  men  {who  compose 
the  most  wealthy,  and  consequently  the  most 
respertahle,  portion  of  society)  he  would  be 
branded  with  the  appellation  of  pedant.  What 
then  must  be  done  1 

It  is  reported  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  that  he 
would  always  introduce  lewd  or  obscene  sub- 
jects of  conversation  at  his  table.  Being  asked 
the  reason  of  this  conduct,  he  replied,  "That 
is  a  subject  in  which  we  all  can  join."  De- 
cency forbids  the  present  polished  generation 
to  have  recourse  to  Sir  Robert's  expedient,  and 
therefore  they  are  necessitated  to  talk  of  the 
state  of  their  health,  the  temperature  of  the 
air,  or  something  else  equally  frivolous. 

The  savages  of  America  are  remarkable  for 
their  taciturnity  :  they  esteem  it  the  height  of 
absurdity  and  madness  to  speak,  when  no 
valuable  purpose  can  be  answered  by  speaking. 
But  if  any  subject  of  conversation  be  intro- 
duced, it  is  always  interesting  to  aJl :  it  re- 
lates to  the  business  of  the  chase,  to  the  ope- 
rations of  war,  or  to  the  public  concerns  of  the 
nation. 


THE  .SAVAGE. 


115 


Sunday. 

We  awoke.  The  morning  bad  considerably 
advanced;  and  the  sun  sent  his  (heerful  beams 
throughout  window.  We  raised  our  head,  rub- 
bed our  eyes,  cast  a  glance  of  recognition  upon 
the  ruBty  furniture  of  our  narrow  disorderly 
apartment,  and  determined  to  arise.  But  indo- 
lence prevailed  :  we  laid  our  head  again  upon  the 
pillow,  and  sunk  into  a  state  of  sweet  insensibili- 
ty. We,  indeed,  still  continued  so  much  awake 
as  to  be  conscious  of  existence ;  but  we  had  fallen 
■o  far  under  the  dominion  of  sleep  as  to  free  us 
from  the  cares  and  anxieties  of  life.  O  enchant 
ing  slumber!  sweet  relaxation  of  body  and  mind  ! 
How  delightful  it  is  to  lay  aside  hopes  and  fears 
and  solicitudes,  to  pass  the  boundaries  of  life,  and 
to  wander  on  the  borders  of  non-eiistence  !  We 
were  roused  from  our  slumber  by  the  sound  of 
the  bells  :  they  seemed  to  give  a  general  invita- 
tion to  the  drowsy  inhabitants  of  the  city  to  go  up 
to  the  house  of  prayer,  and  return  thanks  to  the 
Author  of  Nature  for  blessings  already  received 
and  solicit  a  continuance  of  his  favor.  For  a 
moment  the  illusions  of  a  warm  imagination  pre- 
vailed over  !he  cold  and  disagreeable  deductions 
of  reason:  we  said  to  ourself,  "Shall  we  co  up 
to  Moiin'.  Zion  and  worship  with  the  christians  ? 
Are  we  not  all  children  of  the  same  common 
father?  Why  then  may  we  not  join  together  in 
public  adoration  and  prayer  ?"  Btit  sliort  was 
the  empire  of  feeling :  we  thought  of  a  vain 
proud  avaricious  intriguing  hypocritioal  multi- 
tude, wno  assemble  for  the  purpo:Je  of  imposing 
on  each  other  by  a  specious  affectation  of  piety 
and  a  variety  of  religious  grimaces.  The  reflec- 
tion was  painful.  The  bells  continued  their  in- 
fitation:  but  we  heard  them  uo  longer:  we 
thought  of  the  errors  and  miseries  of  man  ;  we 
thought  of  his  vices  and  follies;  we  thought  of 
the  madness  o(  his  hopes,  the  folly  of  his  fears, 
and  the  ridiculous  nature  of  his  ambition ,  we 
thought  of  death.  But,  some  how  or  other,  our 
mind  was  uncommonly  ingenious  in  getting  rid 
of  these  sorrowful  cogit;itions.  Th''  mental  de- 
pression we  had  experienced  was  .eticcceded  by 
a  soothing  tranquility  :  and  slpep.  a  second  time, 
began  to  creep  over  our  senses,  when  we  were 
startled  by  the  sound  of  a  well  known  voice  in 
the  adjoining  apartment  inquiwng  for  Piomingo  : 
"  What,"  continued  the  voi.e,  "in  bed,  do  you 
Bay?  unparallelled  laziness!'  The  sound  was 
familiar  to  our  ears:  and  without  much  difficulty 
we  recognized  the  tones  of  the  intelligent  but 
talkative  Frank.  \Ve  knew  that  our  visitant  was 
not  eitremely  ceremonious  ;  and  therefore,  we 
were  not  surprised  when  he  b<.>lted  into  our 
chamber,  exclaiming,  "Thou  indolent  savage! 
thou  intolerable  sluggard  !  how  canst  thou  dream 
away  existence  in  sloth  and  torpidity,  whilst  na- 
ture arrayed  in  her  gayest  attire  invite  thee  to 
life  and  enjoyment  f" 

Piomineo.  Pretendest  thou  to  be  civilized,  thou 
daring  intruder?  Why  shouldest  thou  presump- 
tuously break  into  the  sanctum  sanctorum  of  the 
temple  of  indolence,  and  thus  outrageously  inter- 
rupt my  repose  ? 

Frhnk.  The  object,  I  have  in  view,  is  the  pro- 
motion of  thy  happiness :  I  wish  to  effect  thy  re- 
formation :  and  the  end  being  good,  I  shall  find 
n«  difficulty  in  justifying  the  means. 

Piomingo.  I  like  not  thy  phMosophy.  Besides, 
how  canst  thou  suppose  thyself  capable  of  re- 
forming a  man  whom  fifly  years  have  confirmed 
in  his  errors :    I  am  surprised   ai  thy  vanity  ! 


ThojL  canst  only  make  a  few  commonplace  ob- 
servations :  all  which  I  have  heard  a  thousand 
times  be.ore. 

Frahk.  Truth  is  not  less  true,  because  it  has 
been  frequently  repealed. 

Ficmingo.  But  it  is  much  less  forcible  on  that 
account,  I  assure  thee.  I  have  been  told,  even 
from  my  infancy,  of  the  impropriety  of  matutinal 
indulgence :  yet  ihou  seesl  that  all  these  admoni- 
tions have  h.td  no  lasting  influence  on  my  con- 
duct: how  then  canst  thou  imagine  that  truth,  as 
thou  callest  it,  when  deliverfS  by  a  christian, 
should  have  a  more  powerful  efl'ect  than  when 
proceeding  from  the  mouth  of  the  sage  Oconi- 
rnico,  or  from  the  lips  of  a  prince  and  a  warrior, 
ray  venerable  grandfather,  Paya  Mataha  ?  Be- 
sides, is  not  this  SSuiiday  ?  a  day  of  rest?  a  day 
set  apart  for  the  express  purpose  of  relaxation 
and  repose  ?  I  insist  upon  it,  that  I  am  warranted 
not  only  by  your  scriptures,  but  by  divine  exam- 
ple, in  resting  from  my  labors  on  this  sabbath  of 
the  Lord.  Do  I  not  keep  it  holy  ?  Do  I  profane 
it  with  "  any  manner  of  work  ?"  Indeed  I  should 
be  well  saiisfied  if  there  were  t«o  ^Sundays  in 
every  week:  I  find  this  day  the  most  agreeable 
(K)rtion  of  my  time.  When  I  walk  out,  I  am 
pleased  to  see  the  people  neatly  attired,  moving 
in  every  direction  in  search  of  recreation  and 
amusement.  I  rejoice  to  see  the  odious  shops 
shut  up,  and  to  find  that  the  bustle  of  business  is 
suspended  for  a  moment.  I  rejoice,  because  my 
ears  are  no  longer  pained  by  the  clinking  of  the 
hammer  or  the  grating  of  the  saw,  overpowered 
by  the  clamor  oflbols,  or  stunned  by  the  rumbling 
of  draya.  How  cruel  was  the  conduct  of  the 
French  republicans  when  they  sncrilegiously 
abolished  the  festivals  of  the  churcli.nnd,  insteaii 
of  the  seventh,  allow  ed  only  the  tenth,  part  of  time 
to  religion,  amusement  and  rest !  Was  this  done, 
that  time  might  be  properly  decimated  '  or  was 
it  designed  to  promote  industry  and  labor?  The 
slavery  of  man.  m  every  civilized  nation,  is 
already  intolerable:  and  cruel  is  the  legislator 
who  would  quench  the  still  smoking  flax,  or 
bruise,  with  a  heavy  hand,  the  reed  that  is 
broken  ? 

Frank.  Thott  hast  already,  I  find,  been  long 
enough  among  us  to  learn  iKe  practice,  too  com- 
mon with  christians,  of  wresting  the  scriptures 
in  support  of  thy  opinion3,and  moulding  them  in- 
geniously to  answer  thy  purpose.  On  this  day, 
we  are  inf<3rmed  by  divines,  "we  should  not  think 
our  own  thoughts  or  speak  our  own  words,"  but 
devote  ourselves  entirely  to  religious  duties  :  to 
singing  and  reading,  to  humiliation  and  prayer. 

Piomhiso.  1  understand  thee  not.  If  this  day 
be  the  legitimatesuccessorof  the  Jewish  sabbath, 
then  is  it  a  day  of  rest;  and  I  am  justified  in 
seeking  repo.<e.  If  it  be  a  festival,  instituted  in 
honor  of  Christ's  resurrection,  then  it  should  be 
celebrated  by  moderate  indulgences,  cheeirful 
amusements,  and  innocent  hilarity.  Away  with 
your  long  faces  and  downcast  looks,  ye  moping 
and  sorrowing  christians  !  do  ye  mourn  because 
your  saviour  has  risen  from  the  dead  ? 

Frank.  Piomingo!  .\  New  England  puritan  or 
Scoteh  presbyterian,  if  possessed  of  tlie  power, 
would  burn  thee  for  heresy.  Thev  suppose  sab- 
bath-hreaking  to  be  one  of  those  crying  siVjs.which 
no!  only  insure  the  damnation  of  the  offender, 
but  call  down  the  vengeance  of  heaven  upon  the 
nation  in  general.  They  walk  with  s  id  sobriety 
straight  forward,  or  sit  like  statues  of  despair 
without  looking  to  the  right  hand  or  to  the  !•& 


116 


THE  SAVAGE. 


Should  any  one  inadvertently  make  use  of  a 
Ihoughtless  expression,  or  suffer  a  rebellious 
Rmile  to  rise  in  his  countenance,  his  tender  con- 
science immediately  is  alarmed,  and  he  seeks  Oie 
JLord  with  tears  and  lamentations,  and  entrea's 
him  to  forgive  the  corruptness  and  perverseiiess 
of  a  miseraW*  sinner. 

Piomingo.  And  do  they  SHppose  that  the  Lord 
will  be  delighted  with  their  crotodile  tears  and 
face  of  despair?  ordt>they  expect  to  deceive  him 
by  their  whining  complaints  and  cringing  ser- 
vility ?    Can  God  be  pleased  with  men 

so  faint,  so  spiriiless 

So  dull,  so  dead  in  look,  so  wo-begone  ? 
Frank.  Tell  rae:  howdoyou,  savages,  worship 
the  divinity  ? 

Piomingo.  We  worship  the  great  and  good 
spirit  with  singing,  dancing,  feasting,  playing  on 
musical  instriiments^aml  ntalartp  our stlie»  merry 
in  his  presence  :  we-  suppose  that  he  delights  to 
look  down  on  the  happiness  oi  bis  children. 

Frank.  But,  do  you  never  endeavor  to  avert 
his  displeasure  by  fasting  and  prayer  I  Do  you 
never  try  to  atone  for  your  sins  by  voluntary 
penances,  or  by  extraordinary  exertions  of  vir- 
tue ? 

Piomingo.  Never :  we  do  not  suppose  it  possi- 
ble that  he  should  become  the  minister  of  evil, 
or  direct  his  vengeance  againsi  the  creatures  of 
his  power. 

Frajik.  What  then  is  the  design  of  your  fasts, 
prayers,  purifications,  charms,  oblations,  &c.  of 
which  I  have  frequently  heard  i 

Piomingo.  These  are  designed  to  propitiate, 
conciliate,  or  influence,  a  tnultiiude  of  inferior 
spirits,  whose  dispositions  are  supposed  to  be  as 
changeable  and  capricious  as  our  own. 

Frank.  Travellers,  therefore,  report  traly, 
when  they  assert  that  you  worship  the  devil  ? 

Piomingo.  They  assert  a  falsehood:  we  wor- 
ship no  being  that  in  any  way  resembles  the 
devil  of  the  christians.  But  we  believe  that  nu- 
merous spirits  exist  on  the  earth,  in  the  waters, 
and  in  the  regions  of  the  air,  who  are  neither 
■wholly  benevolent  nor  wholly  malignant  in  their 
nature  :  these  we  endeavor  to  propitiate,  when 
offended,  by  abstinence  and  prayer;  these  we 
conciliate  by  offerings ;  and  these  we  sometimes 
coerce  by  our  charms  and  incantations.  We 
have  been  taught  to  believe  that  the  operations 
of  nature  are  carried  on  by  an  infinite  number  of 
beings  resembling  men  in  many  pariicnlars,  but 
greatly  superior  in  power.  Some  of  these  reside 
in  deep  valleys,  among  rocks,  or  in  caverns  of 
the  earth :  they  preside  over  minerals,  regulate 
the  movement  of  subterraneous  waters,  kindle 
volcanoes,  and  excite,  when  displeased,  convul- 
sions and  earthquakes;  others  feed  bubbling 
fountains,  preside  over  lakes,  direct  the  wander- 
ing rivulet,  impel  the  majestic  march  of  rivers, 
and  occasion  the  ebbing  and  flowing  of  the  sea. 
Some  laise  the  mountain  mists;  and  others 
awake  the  exhalations  of  the  valley.  Someskim, 
in  dark  nights,  over  the  surface  of  the  stream, 
and  terrify  the  Indian, in  his  solitary  canoe,  with 
•their  mournful  exclamations;  others  are  heard  to 
groan  in  the  oaks  of  the  forest,  to  moan  in  the 
thickest  recesses  of  the  canebrake,  and  whisper 
jri  the  winds  that  rush  through  the  tops  of  the 
pines.  Sometimes  the  benighted  wanderer  in 
the  desert  sees  a  cheprful  fire  on  the  side  of  a 
hill,  in  the  head  of  a  valley,  or  afar  off  on  the 
plain  aroid  the  towering  trees  of  the  forest .-  h» 


rejoices  in  hopes  of  reaching  the  camp  of  thr 
hunter:  but  the  deceitful  fiend  shiftai-t."  situation, 
and  iViii  with  its  lambent  light  over  dreary 
swamps  and  desol.ite  marshes  ;  and  having  led 
the  unfortunate  vagrant  for  many  a  weary  mile, 
through  briery  dells  and  thickets  of  thorn,  amid 
craggy  rocks,  and  oveo  the  trunks  of  fallen  trees ; 
having  cast  him  down,  the  dangerous  precipice, 
thrown  him  into  the  j'av^niiig  pit,  o»  conducted 
him  into  the  middle  of  the  quaking  niurass,  it  ex- 
tinguishes the  deceitful  llame;  and  a  laugh  of 
iriiimphaiit  malignity  is  heard  thsough  the  gloom, 
of  The  iiiyhtl  Some  of  these  airy  beings  are  sup- 
posed to  waken  the  sun  from  his  nightly  repose,, 
and  strew  the  courts  of  his  palnce  with  roses ; 
others  wait  his  approach  in  the  chambers  of  the 
west,  and  conduct  him  to  the  depths  of  the  ocean - 
Some  watch  over  the  nascent  lierbage,  and  feed 
tlw;  green  maize  wilh  salufaiy  juices  ;  others  ride 
on  the  wings  of  ihe  ravaging  storm,  and  add  fury 
to  the  turbulent  winds.  Some  scatter  thick  fogs^ 
and  unveil  the  fiice  ol'  the  sun;  others  Ktil  to« 
gether  black  clouds,  and  pour  down  torrents  of 
rain. 

Frank.  IIow  do  you  know  when  these  spirit* 
are  offended  ? 

Piomingo.  When  the  fountains  are  dried; 
when  the  winds  are  fbibidden  to  blow  ;  whea 
the  earth  is  burned  by  the  heat  of  the  sun  ;  when> 
the  corn  islilighted;  when  armies  of  flies,  l4)custB< 
and  catterpillars  devour  the  green  herbage,  and 
cut  up  the  verdure  of  the  trees:  when  the  deer 
have  forsaken  thf  ir  haunts,  and  the  buffaloes  no 
longer  are  found  in  the  forest ;  when  the  gun  ol 
the  warrior  misses  its  aim,  and  the  fire  has  for- 
saken his  flint ;  when  the  widowed  dove  toai* 
plains  at  the  door  of  the  hut,  or  the  nightly  whip- 
perwill  takes  his  station  on  the  rool  of  the  cot- 
tage ;  when  myriads  of  buzzards  assemble  in  our 
villages ;  when  dogs  raise,  at  midnight,  the  howl 
of  lamentation  ;  when  the  fishes  are  found  dead 
in  the  strea^m  ;  finally,  when  the  beloved  people 
arc  afflicted  vvith  new  and  terrible  diseases .-  then 
know  we  that  the  gods  are  offended. 

Frank.  In  that  case,  what  course  do  you  pur- 
sue ? 

Piomingo.  We  inquire  into  the  conduct  of  our 
natieu;  \\e  endeavor  to  discover  if  any  one  have 
offended  against  thehtloved  speech  received  from 
our  fathers;  and,  if  it  appearthat  any  Indian  has 
neglected  the  accustomed  ceremonies,  has  de- 
parted from  our  ancient  simplicity  of  manners, 
has  been  guilty  of  an  action  unbecoming  a  be- 
loved red  man  and  a  warrior,  that  man  is  sub- 
jected to  puni.shmenl :  he  is  forbidden  to  appear, 
for  a  limited  time,  in  the  council,  and  is  excluded 
from  those  solemn  dances  and  feasts  which  were 
instituted  in  honor  of  the  divinity.  If  his  crime 
be  very  great,  he  is  banished.  Should  it.  how- 
ever, appear  upon  inquiry  that  no  oflence  can  be 
imputed  to  individuals  or  to  the  people  collec- 
tively, we  are  aptto  direct  our  resentmentagainst 
our  prophets  and  priests:  and  they,  sometimes, 
answer  with  their  lives  fox  having  suffered  Jb« 
nation  to  incur  the  displeasure  of  the  gods,  by 
their  own  negligence  in  performing  their  religi- 
ous duties. 

Frank.  In  what  manner  do  you  appease  those 
ill-natured  divinities  when  they  have,  by  incon- 
testable signs,  evinced  the  existence  of  their 
anger  ? 

Piomingo.  "The  eye  sees  not  itself:"  Although 
thou  mayest  be  unable  to  perceive  the  follies  and 
absurdities  of  thy  countrymen,  thou  wouldest,  D* 


THE  SAVAGE. 


117 


doubt,  be  sufficiently  clear-sighted  todisrem  fhe 
eriore  of  Indians ;  and  lliou  woiildost  probulily 
feel  inclined  to  show  thy  superiority  by  laughiug 
at  our  ridiculous  modes  of  expiation. 

Frank.  Hav*  you  consecrated  pliccs,  vest- 
ments, instrumctus,  (tirtures,  or  imasres? 

Piomivgo.  Some  tribes  represent  invisible  be- 
ings by  the  means  of  pictures  and  images;  but 
this  is  rather  unconnnon  with  American  savages. 
We  have  a  house  set  ajj.irt  for  holy  purposes  ;  in 
which  are  kept  certain  reliirioiis  symbols:  and  in 
which  the  new  fire  is  kindled  at  ihe  commence- 
ment of  every  year.  Our  high  priest  lias  a  dress 
consecrated  for  solemn  occa^ions.  Many  places 
are  said  to  be  under  the  protection  of  spirits,  and 
coiiseqiienlly  are  supposed  to  be  sunciilied  by 
their  presence.  Mouni.-iins,  rocks,  caiarac's, 
rivers,  springs,  and  valleys,  are  trtquently  ob- 
jects of  great  veneration  :  an<l  tiiis  veneration  is 
occasioned  either  by  some  traditionary  story,  or 
by  the  uncommon  appcjirances  exhibued  at  these 
places.  When  we  a))proach  these  sacred  objects, 
we  iidore  the  invisible,  beings  who  ,nre  sup|iosed 
to  be  present,  and  solicit  their  lavor  and  protec- 
tion. But  it  may  not  l)e  amiss  to  remark,  that, 
although  the  American  Indians  reverence  the 
gods,  they  never  practise  any  of  liiose  abject 
grovelling  acts  of  devotion,  whicli  are  so  cus- 
tomary in  civilized  iialioris:  they  never  feel  that 
snif-ahaxement,  that  /iruslrutioti  of  kuiiI,  whicli  is 
■o  much  recommeudeil  by  christian  writers.  In 
the  midst  of  a  'remendous  thunder  storm,  when 
the  heavens  appeared  to  menace  the  earth  with 
destruction,  I  nave  seen  the  savages  rush  out  of 
their  tents,  and  discharge  their  rifles  at  the  cloud 
in  token  of  defiance.  When  their  reasons  for 
this  absurd  conduct  were  demanded,  ibt-y  re[)lied 
in  the  Ibllowing  manner  :  "  Why  should  he  dart 
Iiis  lightning  at  our  heads,  and  endeavor  to  tright- 
en  us  with  tite  voice  of  bin  thund<;r?  We  are 
beloved  men  and  terrible  warriors:  we  cannot 
b«  intimidated."  ''But,"  said  some  one,  "are 
you  not  afraid  to  otfend  the  tiiiimo  of  the  thunder?'' 
"  No,"  they  replied  :  "  why  should  we  fear  him  ? 
Let  him  afflict  us  with  pain,  and  torment  us  wilh 
diseases — we  know  how  to  Buf!i?r  I  Let  him 
blast  us  with  his  lightning,  or  strike  hs  dead  w  ilh 
his  thunder — death  we  despise  !" 

Frank.  Absurd  conduct  indeed  !  But  what 
could  we  expect  from  savages,  pagans,  heathens, 
idolaters  ?  from  men  who  worship  nn  innumera- 
ble multitude  of  malignant  or  capri'-ious  deities? 
from  men  who  adore  caverns,  rocks,  mountains, 
winds,  and  clouds?  from  men  wlio  represent  in- 
visible beings  by  statues  of  wood  or  images  of 
clay?  from  men  who  people  the  universe  with 
imaginary  gods,  and  endeavor  to  control  the 
operations  of  nature  by  childish  and  ridiculous 
ciianns  ? 

Piomingo.  If  these  things  be  absurd,  they  are 
not  peculiar  to  us.  All  nations,  of  which  we 
have  any  knowledge,  have  believed  in  the  ex- 
istence of  beings  superior  to  man,  by  whatever 
name  they  may  haye  been  known,  angels,  genii, 
spirits,  gcids.  The  delightful  mythology  of  the 
Greeks  cheered  the  lace  of  nature  with  a  charm- 
ing^variety  of  immortals,  and  diffused  animation 
through  every  part  of  the  universe;  and  your 
great  epic  poet,  when  delivering  the  traditionary 
belief  of  the  Jews,  aa  well  as  christians,  has  said 
or  sung. 

Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth 
Unieen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep: 


All  these  with  ceaseless  praise  his  works  behold 

Both  day  and  night :  how  ofirn  iroiii  tlie  steep 
Of  echoing  hill  or  thicket  have  we  Jieard 
Celestial  voices  to  ihc  iv.idiiitht  air, 
Sole  or  responsive  to  each  other's  note, 
Singing  their  great  Creator? 

It  must  indeed  be  acknowledged  that  men,  av 
soon  .IS  they  begin  to  think  that  tliey  understand 
the  operations  of  nature,  endeavor  to  account  for 
the  various  phenomena  without  calling  in  the  aid 
of  these  numerous  iiitelligcncos  :  'i'hcy  would" 
rather  venerate  a  blind  mysterious  unintelligible' 
sonfething,  to  whi(-h  they  have  given  the  name 
ot  alirnclion :  they  would  rather  attribule  the 
movements  and  revolutions  ofthings  to  the  neeet- 
.^ilif  of  their  nature,  or  to  the  agen<-y  of  a  fluid, 
llniii  believe  in  the  existence  of  intelligent  causes. 
Well  :  what  shall  we  infer  fiom  ihis' — .Nothing 
but  uncertainty,  darkness  and  error.  The  sarao' 
philosophy  w hn-h  has  aiiiiiliilutcd  the  nereids  and 
naiads,  the  oreads  and  dryads;  which  has  wrest- 
ed thetliunderlxill  from  .lupiler.  and  the  Indent 
from  iXepiune, — that  same  philosophy  has  o^ 
tempted  to  destroy  our  hopes  of  immortality,  and 
dispense  wilh  all  intelligence  in  the  government 
of  the  universe. 

The  philosophers  Invc  certainly  made  discove- 
ries ;  but  they  are  melanthidy  discoveries.  They 
have  become  possessed  of  a  liltir  knowledge : 
knowledge  enough  to  show  the  fallacy  of  those 
delightful  illusions  which  embellished  existence : 
knowledge  enough  to  show  that  nothing  can  be 
known,  and  to  overwiielm  us  wilh  doubts  and 
despair.  They  have  shod  a  Utile  liL'ht  on  the 
ojierations  of  nnturo:  liulit  enough  to  enable  us 
to  discover  the  darkness  and  terrors  of  our  situa- 
tion: light  enough  to  dissipate  the  blooming 
creations  of  fancy,  and  all  the  high- wrought  pic- 
tures of  a  fervid  iiriaeinatioii :  light  enough  to 
enable  us  to  cast  ii  glance  of  horror  through  the 
desolate  regions  that  surround  us  '.  I  am  sick  of 
your  knowledge  and  your  light,  of  your  philoso- 
phical investigations  and  metaphysical  disquisi- 
tions,  of  your  mathematical  demonstrations  and 
theological  contentions,  of  your  astronomical  dis- 
coveries and  analytical  wnnder.i.  I  hate  your 
telescope ;  and,  your  micro.trope  I  deitpise.  I 
would  gladly,  were  it  possible,  obliterate  every 
trace  of  your  unsalisfiictory  knowledge,  and  bury 
mysel|^  where,  and  where  only,  happiness  can 
be  found — in  the  lowly  vale  of  contented  igno- 
rance ! 

You  laugh  at  our  folly  because  we  direct  our 
prayers  to  inferior  spirits  raiher  than  to  the  su- 
preme and  all-governing  intelligence.  What 
would  you  say,  should  I  assert  that  your  practice 
is  more  ridiculous  than  ours  ?  We  may  hope  to 
conciliate  the  favor,  avert  the  displeasure,  or 
determine  the  decisions,  of  inferior  spirits  ;  who 
are  subjected  to  passions,  and  governed  by  dis- 
positions, similar  to  our  own :  but  who  can  in- 
fluence the  will,  or  sway  the  mind  of  an  un- 
changeable God  ?  We  may  lay  open  our  thoughts 
to  deities,  who  are  supposed  to  be  ignorant  of 
what  passes  in  our  miiids;  and  we  may  convince 
them,  by  reasoning,  of  the  justice  of  our  cause  : 
but  whti  can  enlighten  the  understanding  of 
Omniscience,  or  direct  Wisdom  how  to  form  a 
judgment  on  the  subject  proposed. 

You  may  smile  at  our  images  of  clay:  but  here, 
also,  we  can  make,  for  ourselves,  a  tolerable 
apology :  and  our  cenduct,  when  contrasted  with 
that  of  your  religious  enthusiasts,  will  not  ap> 


118 


THE  SAVAGK. 


pear  so  laughable  as  you  seem  to  imagine.  We 
do  not  worship  the  wood  or  clay,  of  which  the 
statue  is  composed;  but  the  deity  who  is  sup- 
posed to  sanctify  it  by  his  presence.  We  do  not 
adore  the  cavern,  the  rook,  the  fountain,  the 
cataract,  the  wind,  or  the  cloud ;  but  the  spirits 
who  have  taken  up  their  residence  there.  Does 
not  every  one,  who  worships  an  invisible  being, 
foriii,  in  his  mind,  an  image  of  the  being  he 
adores?  Why  then  may  we  not  assist  him  in 
his  conceptions  by  visible  representations?  Is  it 
to  be  expected  that  his  ideal  image  will  be  a 
more  correct  likeness  than  the  production  of  our 
statuary,  however  rude  it  may  appear  to  the  eye 
of  a  connoisseur?  May  he  not  as  well  lake  the 
resemblance  of  his  god  from  the  hands  of  our  in- 
genious artificer  as  worship  the  monstrous  crea- 
tion of  his  own  distempered  and  agitated  mind  ? 
Our  attenvpts  to  control  the  operations  of  nature 
by  charms  and  incantations  may  appear  ridicu- 
lous to  the  philosophic  lew  in  civilized  nations: 
but  this  weakness  cannot  appear  surprismg  in  us, 
when  it  may  be  safely  asserted  that  nineteen- 
twentieths  of  the  most  eaUqhiened  nation  on  the 
earth  believe  in  the  efficacy  of  charms  as  whim- 
sical and  childish  as  ours.  We  are  not  more 
superstitious,  m  this  particular,  than  were  the 
ancients ; 

Carmine  dii  supen  plaeantur,  carmine  manes. 

•'  By  charms,"  says  another  poet,  "  the  moon  can 
be  brought  down  from  heaven  :  by  charms  Circe 
changed  the  companions  of  Ulysses  into  swine  : 
and  the  cunning  serpent  is  destroyed  by 
charms." 

Frank.  You  have,  I  understand,  among  you, 
many  customs  and  ceremonies,  which  you  reli- 
giously observe,  although  you  are  unable  to  give 
any  rational  account  of  their  origin  or  significa- 
tion. 

Pinm'ingo.  Well:  is  it  not  better  that  unmean- 
ing ceremonies  should  occupy  our  time,  and  that 
our  religion  should  consist  of  a  round  ef  external 
observances,  than  that  we  should  be  contmually 
gasping  for  heavenly  inspirations,  waiting  for 
the  illapses  of  the  divinity,  or  swelling  with  ima- 
ginary afflalns  ;  until,  having  deceived  ourselves 
as  well  as  others,  we  be  driven  to  madness  by  the 
illusions  of  a  distempered  imagination  ? 

Besides,  every  innocent  custom,  how  frivolous 
soever  it  may  appear,  should  be  carefully  ob- 
served. Ever\'  innovation  in  national  manners 
opens  a  door  for  the  entrance  of  vice,  and  shakes 
the  foundatio;is  of  virtue.  Virtue  ha.s  been  often 
compared  to  a  plant:  and,  if  I  maybe  allowed 
to  poetize  a  little,  I  would  consider  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, as  a  beautiful  but  tender  exotic  transferred 
from  the  mild  and  benignant  climate  of  heaven 
*o  the  bleak  and  ungenial  region  of  the  earth  ; 
■where  it  must  be  protected  by  the  sheltering 
walls  of  salutary  prejudices,  or  it  will  perish. 

Every  innovation  in  national  manners  is  dan- 
gerous, because  it  lessens  our  veneration  for  the 
wise  institutions  of  our  fathers ;  it  lessens  the 
respect  we  should  feel  for  ourselves  as  members 
of  a  particular  community  ;  it  destroys  nation- 
ality ;  it  breaks  down  the  barrier  which  the 
wisdom  of  our  ancestors  has  raised  between  u« 
and  the  nations  of  the  earth  ;  it  cuts  away  the 
dikes  which  have  defended  us  (or  ages  from  the 
tempestuous  waves  which  agitate  the  world : 
until,  finally,  we  are  overwhelmed  by  an  ocean 
«f  vices. 


Frank.  It  is  true,  those  sages,  who  have  ac- 
quired immortality  by  the  establishment  of  na- 
tions, appear  to  have  thouglu  it  necessary  to  in- 
stitute national  customs  and  regulations,  and  to 
instil  local  prejudices  into  the  minds  of  the  peo- 
ple, who  were  the  objects  of  their  care;  but  their 
■plans  were  defective  and  erroneous,  because  they 
were  not  calculated  for  extensive  empires,  and 
because  they  had  a  tendency  to  originate  and 
perpetuate  national  antipalliiesand  wars. 

Fiomingo.  It  is  easy  to  find  fault ;  but  it  would 
be  difficult  to  show  how  they  could  have  acted 
more  judiciously  than  they  did.  They  were  not 
so  vain  as  to  su])pose  themselves  capable  of  re- 
generating and  reforming  the  world,  but  wisely 
directed  their  exertions  to  the  promotion  of  the 
felicity  of  their  countrymen.  If  a  man  endeavor 
to  overturn  a  mountain,  his  labor  will  be  lost, 
but  if  he  exert  himself  to  remove  a  stone  or  a 
piece  of  timber  out  of  his  way,  he  will  probably 
be  successful. 

One  of  those  venerable  legislators  found  him- 
self in  a  situation  which  enabled  him  lo  influ- 
ence the  decisions  of  an  inconsiderable  people, 
whose  happiness  he  was  anxious  to  secure.  To 
tiicm  he  issued  his  commands:  and,  in  order  that 
they  might  make  a  suitable  impression  on  their 
minds  he  called  in  the  assistance  of  heaven.  The 
precepts  inculca'.ed  were  delivered  as  the  oracles 
of  God:  and  the  transgressor  not  only  suffered 
the  punishment  announced  by  the  law,  but 
trembled  at  incurring  the  displeasure  of  the  di- 
vinity. The  virtuous  citizen  was  not  only  re- 
warded by  the  api)lauses  of  his  country  and  dis- 
tinguished by  honorary  marks  of  her  favor;  but 
he  also  felt  happy  in  the  idea  of  having  secured 
the  favor  and  protcciion  of  heaven. 

The  wise  lawgiver  saw  the  necessity  of  raising 
an  insurmountable  barrier  between  his  political 
children  and  the  other  nations  of  the  earth. 
How  can  he  preserve  his  favorites  from  contami- 
nation ?  shall  he  build  a  wall  of  adamant  that 
cannot  be  scaled  ?  shall  he  surround  them  with 
mountains,  whose  impassable  summits  ascend  to 
the  heavens?  shall  he  call  around  them  the  waves 
of  some  rest. ess  and  tempestuous  ocean  ?  or  shall 
ho  hide  them  in  the  nudstof  an  inhospital  desert? 
These  things  exceed  his  abilities  ;  but  he  may, 
by  judicious  regulations,  render  the  objects  of  hia 
care  and  the  neighboring  nations  reciprocally 
odious  to  each  other. 

It  may  be  observed  that  these  ancient  law- 
givers thought  salutary  prejudices  and  an  unvary- 
ing system  of  manners  necessary  for  the  pros- 
perity of  virtue;  but  modern  philosophers  en- 
deavor to  eradicate  all  prejudices,  whether  bene- 
ficial in  their  effects  or  otherwise :  they  are  in 
quest  of  truth  ;  but  they  ought  to  reflect  that 
truth,  enough  to  answer  their  purpose,  will  never 
he  found.  Should  they  even  tbllow  Nature  to 
her  hiding  place  and  ravish  the  master  secret 
from  her  bosom  ;  would  the  discovery  be  produc- 
tive of  happiness  to  man  ? 

Every  one  now  appears  desirous  to  promote 
the  intercourse  of  nations.  Were  all  nations 
equally  vicious.were  society  every  where  equally 
corrupt;  were  all  laws,  and  constitutions  of  go- 
vernment, equally  well  calculated  to  promote  the 
felicity  of  man  ;  were  all  customs,  opinions,  and 
pursuits,  equally  conducive  to  the  practice  of 
virtue ;  then,  indeed,  a  jihiiosopher  might  be 
well  pleased  to  see  nations  supply  each  others' 
wants,  reciprocate  offices  of  friendship,  and  main- 
tain a  continual  intercourse;  then,  he  need  not  be 


THE  SAVAGE. 


113 


«pprehen«ive  of  protnotins:  rivllization  at  the 
expense  of  virtue  and  happiness  :  but,  it  the  laws, 
r()t)«titutions,  rustonis,  prejudiees,  manners,  pur- 
suits, t)i  one  people,  be  more  desirahle  than  those 
of  another,  what  will  be  the  c»nseqiience  of  as- 
sociation? All  the  advantages  which  the  virtu- 
ous nation  derived  frmnits  local  institutions  will 
gradually  lessen,  and  finally  disappear. 

Ancient  lawgivers  studied  the  nature  of  man, 
and  formed  his  mind  to  virtue  and  L^lor^' ;  b»t 
thfl  founders  of  modern  republics  think  mind  al- 
together unworthy  of  their  attention  :  they  take 
no  measures  to  prevent  the  existence  of  vice,  hut 
suppose  they  have  fulfilled  their  duty,  when  they 
inflict  punishment  on  the  vicious. 

What  wouldest  thou  think  of  a  physiciln,  to 
whom  some  prince  had  coinmitled  tlie  care  of 
the  health  of  his  subjects,  who,  instead  of  recom- 
mending temperance  r.nd  exercise,  and  using 
every  means  in  hia  power  to  }irevent  the  exis- 
tence of  disease;  instead  of  watching  ilie  ap- 
proachps  i>f  di.stemper,  and  adminisierinjif,  in  guixl 
time,  ths  necessary  remedj' ;  sliould  encourage 
the  objects  of  his  care  in  every  species  oi  excess, 
and  pay  no  attention  whatever  to  the  causes  or 
pi  ogress  of  indisposition;  but  when  the  patient 
Ahoiild  become  absolutely  incurable  would  order 
his  hend  to  be  taken  off  l)y  an  attendant  ? — .Such 
if  the  coniluct  of  modern  legislators  :  tlu^y  never 
attempt  to  form  the  mind  ;  to  give  a  salutary  di- 
rection to  its  energies  ;  to  iin|)iant  ihe  seeds  of 
honor,  patriotism,  friendship,  heroi.sm;  to  awaken 
in  the  breast  a  love  of  glor\  ,aiid  slir  up  the  sparks 
of  noble  ambition.  7>o:  thoy  permit  every  spe- 
cies of  vice  to  flourish  until  it  h.ive  taken  .such 
deep  root  in  society,  that  it  cannot  be  extirjiated. 
What  then  ?  The  sapient  Icgislatorii  assemble 
and  make  a  law  «g.iinst  this  tlesfructive  vice: 
and  in  obedience  to  this  law,  the  sword  of  justice 
is  sent  forth  to  destroy  those  members  of  lUe 
eommunily  who  are  most  lieeply  infected  with 
the;  prevailing  distemper  :  a  distemper  which,  if 
the  government  had  done  ils  duty,  would  never 
have  existed.  Another  vice  becomes  universal ; 
and  another  law  is  made  aL^^inst  the  vicious. 
Crimes  are  multiplied,  and  laws  are  multiplied 
also ;  until  men  lose  Ihe  idea  of  ri^ A^and  tirorig 
in  that  of  lavyful  and  nnlawful:  and  however 
bn^o,  perfidious  and  unjust  their  conduct  may  be, 
they  account  themselves  "good  men  and  true" 
if  they  do  not  incur  the  penalty  of  the  law. 

It  is  amusing  to  hear  thos(%  w  ho  thrivo  by  the 
vices  and  follies  of  others,  and  fatten  on  the  cor- 
ruptions of  society,  boast  of  their  civilization  and 
adduce  the  multiplicity  of  their  laws  as  a  proof 
of  their  refinement.  Wliereas,  in  truth,  the  mul- 
tiplicity of  their  laws  proves  nothing  but  the 
multiplicity  of  their  crimes. 

frank.  Is  it  not  true,  that  savages  have  but 
few  laws,  and  that  civilized  nations  have  many  ? 
And  does  not  this  arise  from  multifarious  busi- 
nesses and  diversified  relations  on  the  one  hand, 
and  from  sameness  of  life  and  restricted  inter- 
course on  the  other  ? 

Piomingo.  It  is  true,  that  savages  have  few 
laws,  because  they  are  governed  by  a  system  of 
manners — because  they  are  virtuous :  and  it  is 
also  true,  that  polished  nations  have  many  laws, 
because  their  manners  are  corrupted — because 
they  are  vicious.  However  highly  polished  a 
nation  might  be,  howeyer  various  the  relations 
that  might  subsist  among  the  individuals  com- 
posing the  same,  if  men  were  just,  there  would 
be  no  aecessity  for  laws — there  would   be   no 


laws.  Yet  we  hear  the  wisest  among  you  boast- 
ing of  your  multiplied  statutes :  as  vvell  might 
the  captive  be  proud  of  his  chains,  or  the  slave 
of  the  whip  suspended  over  his  shoulders!  But 
we  are  also  lolil  that  your  law?  are  just :  and  of 
that  you  are  vain  ;  were  the  laws  unjust,  some- 
thing might  be  inferred,  from  that  circumstance, 
in  your  favor ;  but  as  they  are  just,  you  must  be 
unjust.  ITinti  shah  nol  steal,  was  a  very  just 
law:  but  it  proves  there  were  thieves  among  the 
Jews. 

Frank.  Dost  thou  suppose  that  the  founders  of 
the  American  republic  should  have  imitated  the 
conduct  of  tk.jse  sages  of  antiquity  to  whom  thou 
hast  alluded; 

Viiimin.^o.  As  far  as  it  might  have  been  prac- 
ticable, they  certainly  ought.  Theysh'.uld  have 
formed  sucli  regulations  as  would  have  had  s 
tendency  to  give  a  national  character  to  the  peo- 
ple of  tiie  United  States.  They  should  have  in- 
stituted .1  grand  national  system  of  education, 
and  breathed  the  Sj)irit  of  virtuous  republicanism 
into  the  rising  generation.  Thoy  should  have 
inslittueJ  srhools,  gymnasia,  games,  festivals. 
They  should  have  made  it  their  primary  concern 
to  raise  citizens  for  the  only  republic  on  earth. 
Tliey  should  have  considered  the  youth  of  both 
sexes  as  belonging  to  ihe  nation,  and  have  taken 
c;ire  ih.it  Ihe  offsprins;  of  the  indit;eiit  should  not 
b<>  brutalized  by  drudgery,  nor  thai  of  the  opulent 
ruined  by  indulgence.  They  should  have  A'lv- 
finguished  excellence  by  honorary  rewards  and 
desirable  pri  vilegcs.and  have  rendered  indolence 
avarice,  and  selHshncss.  conieniptible.  Indeed, 
any  institution,  which  would  have  created  na- 
tionality, would  have  been  attended  with  an  in* 
finify  of  advantages. 

But  nothing  of  this  nature  was  atlempted  :  they 
legislated  coueeniing  exports  and  imports,  oflicefi 
and  salaries.  'I'huy  thought  nothing  worth  their 
attention  but  the  acquisition  and  protection  of 
property — the  ways  and  means  of  getting  rich, 
and  the  sweets  of  luxurious  enjoyment.  No  plan 
of  education  has  keen  formed;  no  grand  national 
work  h.as  been  undertaken;  no  glorious  enter- 
prise has  been  achieved;  nothing  daring  andlmag- 
nanimoiis  has  been  attempted,  which  might  give 
the  citizens  a  iiigh  opinion  of  their  country,  of 
their  government,  of  themselves ;  nothing  has 
been  thought  of  which  might  divert  the  attention 
of  the  citizens  from  their  avarious  pursuits ; 
nothing  has  been  imagined  which  might  share 
the  respect  which  is  now  paid  solely  to  riches ; 
no — the  image  of  no  new  God  has  been  set  up, 
which  might  divide,  with  Mammon,  the  adora- 
tions of  the  good  people  of  the  United  States! 
What  will  be  the  fate  of  a  commonwealth  go- 
verned by  such  grovelling  sordid  statesmen,  such 
intriguing  low  politicians? — It  will  become  a 
nation  of  mercantile  adventurers,  brokers,  shop- 
keepers, pedlers.  usurers,  and  unprincipled  specu- 
lators. A  mercenary  spirit  will  pervade  every 
part  of  the  community  :  it  will  influence  the  ac- 
tions of  the  governing  and  the  governed,  of  the 
opulent  and  the  indigent,  of  the  wise  and  the 
foolish.  Sunk  in  luxurious  indolence  or  groan- 
ing under  the  weight  of  oppression,  cowardly, 
weak,  divided,  effeminate,  base,  the  nation  will 
become  a  prey  to  the  first  daring  usurper,  or 
ambitious  invader. 

Frank.  We  wander  from  the  subject,  Piomingo. 
Plato  taught  his  disciples  in  the  shades  of  the 
academy  ;  Epicurus  inquired  after  the  sovereign 
i^ood  in  the  delicious  recesses  of  a  garden  ;  Zeno 


120 


THE  SAVAGE. 


insiriicted  his  followers  in  a  portico;  Aristotle  hear  the  gospel  preached  Itt  its  purity,  and  b« 
was  the  father  of  the  walkers;  and  thou,  I  sup-  carefully  instructed  in  the  doctrines  of  grace, 
pose,  meanost  to  institute  a  sect  of  sleeping,  philo-  Piomingo.  What  are  the  doctrines  of  grace  ? 
aoph'ers.  and  give  lessons,  in  thy  bed,  on  indolence  frank.  We  are  commanded  not  to  "cast  pearls 
of  body  and  tranquility  of  mind.  Thou  wilt  before  swine."  Wert  thou  only  in  a  state  of 
place  ihe  summnm  honum  in  a  torpor  of  the  fa-  ^race  and  honored  with  a  pair  of  "  new-invented 
culties.  Wilt  thou  rise  voluntarily  \  or  shall  I  patent"  spiritual  eyes,  thou  woulde«t  be  able  to 
exert  a  little  salutary  force,  and  compel  thee  to  discover  the  beauty  of  these  sublime,  man-de- 
obey  my  commands  ?  If  existence  be  desirable,  pressiiii;,  and  God-fialting  dociiinen  Ah!  it  is 
why  stioukl  we  cast  away  the  blessing  ?  A  man  a  very  comfortable  thing  to  be  in  a  state  of  grace  ! 
might  as  well  be  dead  as  continually  asleep.  In  that  case,  my  dear  Piomingo,  thou  shouldest 

Piomint^n.  fstrelcJnr.g  and  yawning)  Mere  ex-  not  need  lo  be  under  any  apprehensions  of  being 
istence  is  by  no  means  desirable:  therefore,  when  eternally  damned  :  thou  mightest  venture  slyli/ 
I  see  no  prospect  of  pleasure,  I  grow  weary  of  to  indulge  those  corruptions  of  thy  nature  which 
life,  and  resort  to  that  species  of  temporary  death  might  not  be  purged  away  by  the  process  of  re* 
which  is  vulgarly  called  sleep.  Dead!  {yawning)  generation;  but  thou  wonldest  have  to  be  care- 
I  should  like  very  much  to  b>?  dead.  ful  not  to  bring  reproach  upon  the  eodly  by  thy 

Frank.  Die  then  :  there  is  nothing  to  pretent  irregular  proceedings.  There  was  David,  lor  in- 
thee.  I  will,  as  a  friend,  endeavor  to  facilitate  stance,  the  royal  nightingale:  he  made  a  few 
thy  escape  from  this  troublesome  world  :  I  will  false  steps  in  his  progress  through  life  ;  but,  be* 
furnish  thee  vvith  a  knife,  a  rope,  or  a  poisoned  ing  one  of  the  elect,  his  .soul  was  as  safe  as  a 
chalice:  I  will  accompany  thee  to  the  brink  of  guinea  in  the  iron  chest  of  a  miser:  the  Lord 
a  precipice,  or  to  the  banks  of  a  stream.  Leap  never  fails  to  pardon  the  transgressions  of  hi» 
boldly  :  and  terrestrial  affairs  will  disturb  thee  children, 
no  longer.  Piomingo.    Thou  bringest  to  my  recollection 

Piomingo.  Thou  art  very  obliging :  but,  at  pre-  a  niiin  greater  than  David — the  fighting,  praying, 
sent,  I  feci  no  inclination  to  trouble  thee  with  canting,  hypocritical,  enthusiastic,  daring,  cruel, 
commands  of  flmt  extraordinary  nature.  For  rnagnaninious  CronAvel;  who  murdered  his  mas- 
dcath  we  may  "dovoully  wish;"  but  dying,  I  ter,  and  committed  a  few'  barbarities  in  Ireland 
apprehend,  must  be  rather  disagreeable.  How-  and  Scotland.  He  inquireil,  towards  the  end  of 
ever,  to  convince  thee  of  my  respect  lor  thy  ad-  his  life,  if  it  were  certain,  that  the  sainU 
vice,  I  hasten  lo  extricate  myself  from  the  em-  could  not  fall  away  and  be  finally  lost.  Being 
braces  of  sloth.  answered,  that  nothing  was  more  certain,  he  ex- 

Frank.  Thou  dost  well.  Sloth  is  a  most  per-  claimed  with  exultation,  "Tlien  am  I  safe:  for 
nicious  mistress;  she  smiles,  soothes,  seduces,  I  know  that  I  was  in  a  state  of  grace!" — I  am 
and  caresses;  but,  fin:illy,  destroys  every  one  afraid  that  these  doctrines  are  unfavorable  to  ih* 
who  yields  to  her  blandishments.    Though  thou    practice  of  virtue. 

wert  Samson,  thou  wilt  lose  thy  strength  if  thou  Frank.  Virtue!  Evangelical  christians  never 
layest  thy  head  in  the  lap  of  this  Delilah!  Though  mention  virtue,  unless  in  the  way  of  reproach  ; 
thou  wert  Ulysses,  thou  wilt  sink  lo  a  state  of  it  is  a  heatheiish  kind  of  a  thing — filthy  rags- 
brutality  if  thou  yield  to  the  solicitations  of  this  yea,  d***  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord.  Any  one  who 
Circe!  Though  thou  wert  Hercules,  thou  wilt  hopes  to  acnuire  favor  with  God  by  promoting 
become  contemptible  if  thou  become  the  slave  of  the  good  of  nis  fellow  creatures  is  regarded  by 
this  Omphale!  them  vvith  the  utmost  contempt  and  abhorrence, 

Piomingo.  TViou  speakest  well:  but  did  I  not  and  stigmatized  with  the  odious  epithets  of /c^a/- 
feel  an  inclination  for  breakfast,  I  fancy  I  should  isl  and  moralist.  They  feel  abundance  of  love 
be  able  to  resist  the  most  potent  of  thy  argu-  and  veneration  for  that  being  who  from  all  eter- 
ments,  and  withstand  thy  most  ardent  solicita-  n'lty  judiciously  selected  them  as  the  objects  of 
lions.  .  his  beneficence ;  but  they  look  down  with  ineffa- 

Frank.  I  have  heard  that  savages  smoke  and  ble  contempt  on  a  reprobate  world — "  vessels,  of 
sleep  away  their  time,  and  cannot  be  roused  from  wrath  fitted  to  destruction  !"  They  have  a  great 
their  state  of  stupefaction,  save  by  the  calls  of  antipathy  against  nature  and  every  thing  natural, 
Tiunger  or  a  desire  of  revenge.  and  are  continually  striving  lo   have  it  brought 

Piomingo.  Thou  hast  not  been  correctly  in-  int»)  subjection :  indeed  they  have  been  so  far 
formed.  Friendsnip,  glory, love  of  country,  aflbrd  successful  as  to  have  brought  themselves  to  think 
moti'^es  sufficiently  powerful  to  call  forth  their     with  pleasure  of  the  eternal  damnation  of  a  Vast 


ardor,  and  produce  die  most  heroic  exertions 

Frank.  Wilt  thou  go  to  church? 

Piomingo.  I  think,  not.  To  what  church 
wouldest  thou  take  me  ? 

Frank.  Thou  art  so  old  that  I  have  small  hopes 
■of  being  so  bl-e.^ed  as  to  witness  thy  conversion  : 
were  it  not  that  I  am  discouraged  by  this  con- 
sideration,   I   should    insist  upon  ihy  attending 


majority  of  mankind.  They  have  constructed  a 
hell,  a  dreadful  hell,  in  which  they  hope  to  see 
unbelievers  eternally  punished:  Yea,  they  flatter 
themselves  with  the  idea  that  they,  the  saints, 
shall  be  placed  on  thrones,  and  will  have  the 
sublime  happiness  of  pronouncing  the  irreversible 
doom,  of  never-ending  torments,  upon  impenitent 
millions:  among   whom   they  expect   to  see  re- 


tome  of  the  calvJnJstic,  reformed, doubly  refined,    probate  fathers,  mothers,  brothers,  sisters,  wivas 
nd  evangelical  churches,  where  th(Mi  mightest    and  children.' 

FINIS. 


y 


THE  T  IVMJmY 


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